Proof of Life

{2010}

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment 

of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

The sliding glass door shuts and I'm left alone.  The morning routines have been carried out, coffee made and a load of laundry sits on the floor waiting to be loaded into the washer.

I've scribbled in my food journal, drawn lines in my art journal and now I'm here in front of this bright-white screen.  Not sure of what to say today and know that I run the risk of feeling like a broken record.  I'm only two days into this six minute daily exercise of jotting down words here on my blog and it feels weird, forced, unnatural.

Do you ever feel like you have so many things to do in one day that you don't know where to begin?  I feel it every day lately.  My creative pursuits used to be the items that fell to the bottom of the list and slowly, but surely, they have risen to the top.  I wake early to ensure time for these pursuits.  They are now the first things I tend to once I wake up and shuffle into the living room and take a seat at my desk.

Documenting our days, making marks on a page, taking photos - those are all ways for me to try and capture this time in our lives.  I feel a sense of duty to preserve our life in a way that will feel good for us to revisit later on down the line.  Not to be mistaken with making it picture-perfect, but just to have something to look back on and help assist with our foggy memories as we get older.

Proof of life.  I think that's the phrase that resonates with me.

Proof of this life.

Our life.

My life.

28 Days of Play :: The Window for Play

My essay, The Window for Play, can be found over at You Plus Two Parenting's website.  I am the featured blogger today in the 28 Days of Play blogger series that focuses on play with our children.

I spent a lot of time reflecting on my early role as a mother and how I slowly figured things out.  Please hop on over here and read.  I'd love to hear your thoughts and keep the dialogue open about the hard parts of motherhood, as well as the good parts.

Happy Friday, friends.

Full Of It

:: My new art portfolio gifted from a dear friend
:: Sylvia Plath knows what she's talking about

Life has been full lately.  Like, really full.  Like, bursting at the seams full.  Overflowing kind of full. You get the drift.

My husband likes to remind me that it's always full.  And, I guess when I stop to think about it, well, it is.  But the busyness of the beginning of the school year just about did me in and I'd like to pop into this little blog space of mine and jot down a few words to punctuate the end of…well, the beginning.

To commemorate the lighter, more care-free after-school calendar, I'd like to write a post dedicated to the creative & beautiful tidbits of daily life that have permeated my world lately and kept me sane for the past six, socially stretched thin weeks we've just had.  Here's what's been going on in my world.

I discovered the most talented Australian artist, Nicole Law, on Instagram (IG handle :: nicolelaw.au).  Her work is gorgeous and it inspired many hours of line drawing in my daily art journal (above left).

I'm in the final throes of library tote bag research and pulled the trigger on a blank canvas bag & sent it off to the screen printer for a small first-run production with my original artwork.  Hoping to have these back by the end of the month and in my new etsy shop by November 1st.  Crossing my fingers it all works out.

My new domain name has been registered and I figured out how to redirect my old blog address to the new one.  This was a major feat for this technologically challenged gal, but I did it without any help, thank you very much.

My library addiction was fed a lot this month and I'm really enjoying revisiting Jenny Rosentrach's Dinner :: A Love Story & her new follow-up to that book Dinner: The Playbook.  Really great, easy to execute family dinner plans for weeknight meals.

I'm also slowly digesting artist Lisa Congon's new book Art, Inc.  Is there nothing this woman can't do?  She is such a huge inspiration to me.  She's self-taught and didn't pick up a paint brush until she was 34.  She is prolific and one-of-a-kind and she inspires me daily with her words, images and blog.

I was gifted the out-of-print book of poetry by Gary Young entitled Pleasure.  I've checked this out from the library a handful of times and that's always my indicator that I must add it to my small home library.  The author is also a printmaker and lives in Northern California.  Since it was out of print, my dear book-loving friend contacted Heyday Books (the publisher) and they sent her a copy - that she, in turn, gifted to me.  I absolutely recommend this book and appreciate his prose-style poems on family life, nature and the relationship between those two worlds.  Here's one of my favorites:

The swallows hide their children in the dark, in frail mud cups beneath the roof.  They fly from the house and come back.  They make loops in the treacherous air, then return.  They live here, too, and they're not afraid.

His poems are without titles.  Here's another that is seemingly simple, but conjures up lovely sensory inducing images:

We bought halibut fresh from the boat, and poached the firm white flesh with onions, fennel root and wine.  We mashed potatoes, nibbled jicama, and Killarney laughed because the meal was white.  She's written a book about her mother, and that night I decided to illustrate the book with clouds.

And one more, because I can't say enough about this little book:

It's a joy to be subtracted from the world.  Holding my son's naked body against my own, all I feel is what he is.  I cannot feel my own skin.  I cannot feel myself touching him, but I can recognize his hair, the heft of his body, his warmth, his weight.  I cannot measure my own being, my subtle boundaries, but I know my son's arms, the drape of his legs, smooth and warm in a shape I can measure.  I have become such a fine thing, the resting-place for a body I can know.

And while I don't read poetry every day, I do have a small stack of my favorite poetry books that rest on a side table in the living room.  When I have a few minutes in between tasks, I like to sit down and open one of them and see what I find.  Usually, it's just the right thing to make me ponder this life I'm living.  This short respite seems to bring my day into sharp focus.  I love how a few words can do this.

I look forward to the delivery of the Sunday New York Times every single weekend.  I try to leave the day WIDE open so that I can sip my coffee, have a leisurely breakfast and read the paper from cover-to-cover for the entire day.  It is the most decadent and inspiring chunk of time during my week.  The graphics are to die for and are the well-written articles are a wealth of inspiration.  It has something for everyone in our family and I'm turning into one of those ladies that clips articles and pulls out sections for my two fellas + friends.  Yes, I'm that lady now.  Consider yourself warned.

We've had a bit of a heatwave over the last 10 days, but the fog has returned in the early mornings and late afternoons.  The fog created a need in me to mix up grey watercolors and try to paint this scene (above, right) from Doran Beach in my art journal.  I have a long way to go in this department.  As always, I am a work in progress when it comes to watercolors.

October's Babylon Book Club selection was All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr.  What a beautifully written book.  Themes of friendship, life, death, the beauty of the natural world, hope, and bravery run throughout its pages.  A must read.

A gangly flock of turkeys has been traipsing across our property for over a month now; eating fallen apples, dropping feathers, clucking & calling with all their might early in the morning and as the sun dips down to say goodnight in our back pasture.  They are both annoying & adorable all at the same time.  They're leaving feathers as some sort of peace offering.  I happily accept these feathers.

I've been taking a creative process in watercolor workshop with the super talented artist, Jean Warren.  She's been working in watercolor for over 30 years and is such a talent.  She makes it all look so easy (when it's absolutely not!).

I'm the newbie in class and was quite intimidated to paint next to my fellow, more accomplished  students.  I'm realizing through these classes that I have a hard time being a student.  I really don't like to be told what to do.  Isn't that funny?  That I pay for classes and attend them - and then quietly push back and try to find a way to do it my way?  Not funny ha-ha, but funny-what-the-hell-are-you-doing-Tammi kind of funny.

I outed myself this week with my classmates and finally let go of my way (which, incidentally is no real way at all).  I began to listen and apply what was being taught to the blank piece of paper in front of me.  It was a small revelation, but really made me look at how I resist change, new ideas coming from others & concrete advice.  I guess I like to fumble my way through things until I figure them out, but as I'm getting older I'm also realizing that if I'd just listen up and give it a try, I might save myself some valuable time.  And, let's face it, time is meaning so much more to me now that I'm getting older.  I don't want to keep fighting unnecessary battles.  It's just silly.  I'm finally realizing that and ready to move on and accept the help of others.

We celebrated our wedding anniversary this week and I gifted a piece of original art to Steve to mark this occasion.  Again, inspired by this artist, I utilized my drawer full of hand-carved stamps and created a wonky little homage to our 13 years by printing 13 wonky circles on kraft-colored card stock with red screen printer's ink.  It took several takes to get it just right, but I absolutely love it.

September was filled with milestone birthday celebrations, first school dances, dinner parties, soccer & flag football games.  It was also filled with big batches of waffles, school lunches, Manhattans, lots of sparkling wine & homemade ice cream sandwiches.

Steve & Grady make the best waffles I've ever had.  At my request, they kindly double the batch and store the cooled waffles in clean, used plastic bread bags, stacking the waffles one on top of the other - so that they lay flat.  During the school week, Grady just pops two in the toaster to reheat and voila! - breakfast of champions.  I've never made a waffle in the 15 years we've been together and I quite like that fact.  We received our first waffle iron as a wedding present and it died late last year from old age and constant use.  Our new All-Clad belgian waffle maker should last us until Grady is out of college.   I love that this is totally Steve's domain and that he is training his son to take over this culinary task for our family.

I thoroughly enjoy listening to the father & son morning banter and witnessing the two of them  cooking together.  Plus, it really helps out with our weekday morning routine by having these in my back-pocket (I mean, freezer).  Recipe can be found here.

Of Bristle and Bone, oil on panel, 60 x 48 inches, 2014

We had the pleasure of attending our dear friend's art show Between Head and Hand at the Dolby Chadwick Gallery in San Francisco last month and it was amazing.  Kai Samuels-Davis is such a talent and we were so proud to take in the show and see our friend's body of recent work up on the walls in this beautiful space.  Click through to his website to see more of his work.

Books & periodicals litter almost every available flat surface in our home right now.  When I'm not busy trying to cram in a little more reading, I'm playing catch up with my downloaded podcasts.  I'm absolutely transfixed by Ira Glass's new podcast Serial.  Have you listened to it yet?  Go download it.  Seriously, right now.  It's my new favorite thing.

Happy October, everyone.

My Middle School Concussion

Middle school is giving me a headache.

I'm writing this in jest, sort of, but I kind of feel like I was hit in the face with a bat and I'm slowly coming out of my middle school concussion and trying to shake it off.

I would also add that I was wholly unprepared for how these past six weeks were going to go down.

After researching middle schools last Spring, we decided to move Grady from the small town school he has attended for the past six years into a much larger charter school in town - about 10 miles away from home.  We knew it would be more rigorous academically and that appealed to us, plus with more students on campus we figured our son would be thrown into more social situations and have considerably more opportunities to try new things via his elective choices.  All in all, it looked like a good fit.  We also felt like we wanted him to be exposed to new friendships, new teachers, new ideas and have new experiences in a safe setting, like middle school, before he entered the big bad world of high school.

To that end, we jumped into summer with the mantra of try new things!  We traveled to Portland and Grady attended a marine mammal camp in Homer, Alaska.  He kept a creative writing journal and skateboarding became his summer thing.  My mother sent a box of cool new school clothes and we bought the requisite back-to-school supplies, so I thought yeah, I think we're ready to start school.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

I mean, I was absolutely expecting that he wouldn't want to pose for a first day of sixth grade photo in front of his new school.  Sure, that would be embarrassing and I could surely give him a little leeway on that.

However, much to this mother's delight, he happily posed here at home and he felt pretty good about himself on the his first day of sixth grade, at a brand spanking new school, nonetheless.

What I was not expecting was the following:

1.  Girls.  I know.  I should have, but I didn't.

2.  The fact that my son would want to wear skinny jeans and a heavy knock-off letterman's jacket every. single. day.  Even in 80+ degree temperatures.

3.  The sports schedules would make our family out to be a bunch of late afternoon gypsies, shuttling from one sport to the next and all the while trying to figure out how and when we would make dinner on a nightly basis.

His first locker

4.  Girls trying to friend me up on social media as a way to see pictures of my son.  Hmm.

5.  The homework schedule.  When in the world would homework happen?

6.  The trumpet.  Didn't see that one coming.

7.  A boy-girl school dance wherein my son would rip the crotch out of the front of his pants from channeling Napoleon Dynamite and doing - the splits!

8.  Grady's sock penchant has been renewed and it's all colorful, knee-high length socks for this boy.  Turquoise, red, black - all the time.  It's a look I wasn't prepared for, but I'm slowly embracing.

9.  My son asking for my help in proofreading a breakup email he was drafting.  What the…?

10.  Flag football.  I had not one clue that my son would be interested in this activity.  None.

11.  And did I mention the girls?  The cheering.  The texting.  The squealing?  Oh, I remember being eleven years old.

Holy shit.

Karma.

The sports are coming to an end in the next week and I kind of love hearing him play the trumpet.  The first dance was a rite of passage and he has a great (albeit embarrassing) story to accompany that experience.

And the girls.  Well, I think they are here to stay.

So all the while when I thought I was preparing my only child to go to middle school, little did I know I should have been preparing myself for his middle school experience.

Mamas of little ones?  Here's what I want to say to you:

G @ four years old circa 2007
Cowboy hat, favorite polka-dot ribbon serving as a "dog harness" and his first pumpkin carving contest

Enjoy the first days of elementary school and the fact that your child dressed himself in some crazy get-up, or you picked out the adorable matching outfit.  Those days are numbered, my friend.  I write this as a cautionary tale and as a friendly warning.  Soak up the cuteness.  Take a picture.  Walk them to class as often as you can - even if you're in your pajamas/yoga pants.  Write down funny little things they say.  Savor it.  It's so freaking special.

Go to as many school plays and musicals as your schedule allows.  Cherish the handmade art they bring home every week.  Go to the dreaded PTA meetings and volunteer your time as much as you can, because your child will not want you to do this when they hit middle school.  Trust me.  I know you can't believe this right now, but it's true.  I didn't want to believe it either.

The bake sale?  The field trips?  The class parties?   Yes, go.  Buy store bought goods and throw them on the table.  Just go.  Your child wants you there.

You're so lucky.

::

I'm coming to understand the ins-and-outs of middle school and my son is settling in just fine.  I'm always a little slower on the uptake.  And while I reached out to his homeroom teacher to see how I could assist in class, she gently reminded me that typically, middle school is when parent presence inside the classroom diminishes.

Ouch.

And, yes, of course.  It's the time where I should start to let him have more freedom and loosen the parental grip I've had for the past decade.  I get that.  Really, I do.

You know how it's a good thing that you have nine months to process that you're pregnant and bringing a life into the world?  Well, I think it's a good thing middle school is three years in length because I'm going to need that long to navigate this new territory of tween-dom, emotions, friendships and, yes, girls.

And to that end, I think I have to step away from writing about my son for a bit.  It seems like the right time to give him some privacy and space.  I'm embarrassed to say that over the years writing here in this space, I have shared openly without much thought to his right to privacy.  Sure, I ask him if he's okay if I post a photo - but, now I'm not so sure about all of this and feel like I need to look deeper and examine this issue.

I need more time to figure it out.

It's a new world over here in our household and, honestly, I look forward to the coming changes and new adventures.  I'm just going to need to commiserate every now and again with friends and relish in this time of rapid growth and change - for all of us.

And, this mild middle school concussion is sure to go away, right?

I'll just need to stock up on the Advil.  Stat.

Mommy Guilt :: Lessons Learned

 

This week my mommy guilt kicked into high gear.  What should have been a week of bliss quickly turned into late night problem solving, lots and lots of tears, and cold compresses.  It wasn't all bad, but it wasn't all good either  This quote by J.D. Salinger really speaks to me and I think there is definitely more than a kernel of truth to it - at least for this mother.

Bodega Harbour Pool
Art Word for the Day :: FORWARD

The third week in July signals our annual pilgrimage to Bodega Bay [a mere seven miles west of us]. Our dear friends loan us their weekend beach home and we settle in like we're on a real vacation.  Here's a few blog posts from years gone by 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010.

Sunset cocktails with the Rangels
Art word for the day :: GROW

We have friends over for sunset cocktails, easy dinners & catch up on our reading and t.v. watching.  We settle into a routine of early mornings, loading sports gear in and out of the car and we usually try really hard to disconnect from our normal lives.  These easy-breezy routines proved to be a challenge this time around.

Art Word for the Day :: HOME
Our home as viewed through the blooming Queen Anne's Lace

In the months leading up to this week, Grady told us he wasn't really into golf and the fact that he didn't want to continue taking lessons.  He shared that tennis lessons & swimming with his friends were his favorite parts of the week.  His father assured him that one day he would appreciate knowing the basics of golf and that he needed to take the lessons he signed up for.  We decided this would be the last year of making him take golf lessons, but he had to follow through with this year's commitment.  Looking back, I wish we had heeded this no golf premonition.

Sunset + hammock on the back deck
Art word for the day :: LIQUID

Grady got a major haircut during the week prior to camp and, therefore, had baby fresh skin on his neck, ears and around his hairline.  In a lame display of my mothering prowess, I neglected to put sunscreen on my son's ears and oh did they get burnt!  Like really, really fried.  Motherhood fail…big time.  He soldiered on for Day 1 of Camp and did the golf-tennis-pool circuit, but those little ears were fire engine red, swollen and hot to the touch.

Art word for the day :: KALEIDOSCOPE
Colored pencil sharpening as meditation

Our days usually start early with golf, a quick transfer to tennis, and we grab a quick lunch by the pool and he swims for hours - making new friends or reconnecting with last summer's friends.  All the while, I sit on a lounge chair and try to read.  Really, I'm watching all the connections, the laughter and looking for the signs that my kiddo has had enough.  When he finally tires of swimming, I wrap him up in a beach towel and we head home for afternoon naps.

The naked ladies are up early this year & their color is influencing my art making
Womb paintings in progress

I could tell by the look in his eyes that this boy was not okay on Day 2.  His eyeballs were bloodshot, his ears were puffed out to the max and he was warm to the touch.  We abbreviated our time spent at the pool and headed back to the beach house for a cool shower and cold compresses for his ears, which were now starting to blister.  Oh, how could I have been so stupid and forgotten the ears?

Old man sun hat became mandatory during the latter part of the week
We had unprecedented sunshine the entire week we were in Bodega Bay (usually it's grey & foggy)

It's hard to see your child lethargic and out of it, especially when you have so much fun planned for them.  In the middle of the night he woke up crying, in pain and not sure what was going on.  I washed his face with a cool washcloth and brought him to bed with us.  I stroked his brow and lulled him to sleep.  His ears were sensitive, raw and I'm pretty sure he had all of the symptoms of a mild sun stroke.   Oh, my mother's guilt was starting to set in.  It's a powerful, powerful thing.

Art word of the day :: IMAGINE
Our kitchen table during morning art sessions

He continued his lessons, but I lathered him up with sunscreen and zinc oxide.  I made him drink lots of water and eliminated the pool time from his routine.  He pushed through for the remainder of the week, but he just wasn't himself.  A sinus infection was developing, too, and we just needed to get home.  I silently promised myself that I would travel with 100 SPF sunscreen in my purse for the next 13 years.

Art word for the day :: JABBERWOCKY
Reunited with the Rangel girls upon their arrival home from a month long trip to Spain

Once we got back to our home at the end of the week, things started to improve and the brightness returned to his eyes and cheeks.  I decided to really focus on resting and getting him well, as our big trip to Alaska was on the horizon and less than a week away.

Purple potatoes from Bloomfield Organics from our CSA box
New book :: Alabama Moon by Watt Key (he can't put it down)

We lost ourselves in books and art, but not before he had another meltdown about our new daily art project that we had been working on.  He shared that he wanted to be free with his art and not have an assignment.  I had to let go, if I learned nothing over the last 10 days - I had to learn to listen to this kid and what he's feeling.  I had to pay attention to the signs and honor his words.  And, so I did.  There were tears and good talks and all that stuff that goes into making a good decision.  I would miss our mornings drawing together, but he needed a say and I needed to let him know he was heard. I have a feeling he'll be back sooner rather than later at the kitchen table.  

I'll wait.  

It'll give me a chance to absorb a big 'ole lesson in patience and give him some space.

My tendency to go full steam ahead needed to be tempered and he reminded me of that.  And while mommy's guilt is generally counter-productive, in theory, I think it was a nice big red flag for me to STOP, listen, slow down and tune in to what my kid was saying.

And, as far as art goes, I don't want to be bossy art mom.  That sounds horrible, right?  No fun at all.  I just want to be there for him and make space for him to show up, pick up a pencil and start again when he's ready.

By the end of this week I forgave myself for not putting sunscreen on my sweet kid and protecting him from the sun.  I also forgave myself for unwittingly pushing him creatively.  These two separate experiences actually served as a wonderful metaphor and a great reminder that I can't protect him from everything and I can't force him to use his talents.

I can only lead by example, show him what to do and do the best I can.

If that's slightly insane…then so be it.

Summer Road Trip :: Portland 2014

We took our first summer road trip to Portland a few weeks ago and had a fantastic time.  Our friends let us use their condo as a home base and we took daily excursions to eateries, book stores, libraries, skate parks, thrift stores, donut shops, ice cream parlors and walked the oh-so clean city streets.

This video was Grady's project during our trip.  He captured images with his iPad and used an app called Over to insert words & graphics.

It's about 3-1/2 minutes long.



I think it's sweet what he wanted to remember and look forward to our next family vacation in Bodega Bay in just a few short weeks.

Skateboarding :: A Father & Son Love Story

My husband and son are spending their evenings together at a local skate park.  I have been waiting for this to happen since the day my son was born.  

Let me explain.

Steve's first skateboard park membership + Grady's first night riding

I've had the privilege of spending hundreds of weekends and afternoons after school with Grady.  Sports never figured into our mother-son equation because sports were never my thing.  Sure, we would spend hours perusing library shelves or go to the beach to collect smooth rocks and sea glass at low tide, but that was all guided by me and my interests.

Introducing my son to the ins and outs of sports would not be my area of expertise.  Not in the least.

Over the years, I've longed for my husband and son to hang out in the yard and play catch or throw a pigskin around (did I just refer to a football as pigskin?) My husband has a passion for the Los Angeles Dodgers and an appreciation of statistics.  I just assumed that when we had our little boy that one day they would be that father and son in the backyard throwing that little white orb back and forth.  I'd seen it with my father and my brother.  I assumed it would just happen.

It never did.

Or I should say, it rarely did.

You see, my kid isn't a baseball player.  He tried.  It wasn't his thing.  I thought my husband would push him harder and maybe even force the issue.

He never did.

He's not that kind of parent.

And so years have gone by and the only team sport our son seems to really enjoy is soccer.  His other interests are reading books and holing up in his art studio to listen to audiobooks and fold origami, build make believe worlds with his Lego collection or draw make believe monsters.  He's an only child and he likes being alone.

All that changed on the first day of summer vacation.

Grady unearthed a skateboard that he purchased from the Goodwill last year and asked for us to take him somewhere where he could ride it.  You see, we live in the country and have no sidewalks or smooth asphalt on our property or street.

My husband quickly obliged and so began their nightly jaunts to find a place to ride.

The father-son duo decided his Goodwill board was not the best to learn on and so they took a trip to Play It Again Sports and scored a used board with better trucks (Trust me, I had no knowledge of this lingo until this new hobby took hold).

Grady sanded and painted a design on his new-to-him board and off they went find a skate park and break it in.  And, as they say, the rest is history.

A few months ago my husband and I were talking about waiting and watching to see what Grady would be interested in next and then following his lead.   Instead of us leading him to books, art and sports - we would sit back and pay attention to what interested our son and not interfere too much.  Rather, we would wholeheartedly support it.

It didn't take long for us to see his new passion unfolding and that was kind of exciting to us.

His board is near him at all times.  He spends hours just sitting on it reading or trying a new stationary trick.

We're watching Tony Hawk videos and packing his board and gear in the back of our cars every time we go into town, you know, just in case we pass a good place to skate.

Steve and Grady have formed a new bond over this little piece of wood and four wheels.  They are sharing knowledge, creating memories (falling down quite a bit, too) and making time for one another.

Just like I thought it would be.

Only different.

Only better.

Now.

"Mom, I want to paint this."

Inspired by Nici's recent post Now about her children, I wanted to use that framework for a post about what all of us are doing right now.  I love this idea, as days and weeks go by so quickly and I want to remember the little, everyday things that bring me joy as I witness our family in this rhythm of life we are currently in.

Grady
Ripped jeans with smiley faces written on the knees in black Sharpie
Devouring author Rick Riordan's Mark of Athena
at the table, in the bathroom, in his bed, in the car
New freckles are splashed across the bridge of his nose
Fresh scratch on his right knee
End-of-the-year thank you note-writing to all of his teachers
Flipping his head to the left to get his sandy blonde locks of hair to swing across his forehead just so
Lots of looking in the mirror
Wedgie wars with his father that I'll never understand
Purple. All. The. Time.
Negotiations for more iPad time
Black, slouchy knit cap to contain his mop of hair
Plucking blueberries off our our one and only bush & eating them like candy
Sucking honeysuckle and bringing in flowers for me to enjoy, too
Watering our sunflower baby seedlings
Making his own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

Steve
Fixing, syncing, troubleshooting all of our tech devices
Playing blackjack with G
Showing our son the Honey Badger videos on Youtube (nice, eh?)

Me
Morning doodling in my art journal
Too much coffee, always
Experimenting with embroidery
Searching for a new typewriter on Craig's List
Reorganizing every file in our file cabinets
144 pages into a 737 page book
Baking these blueberry oatmeal cookies with lemon glaze

Home
Local farmers are making hay
Grasses surrounding our home are over five feet tall
Volunteer opium poppies are blooming in the back garden
Newly planted nasturtiums bring hope for more edible flowers
I just discovered out oven has been 100 degrees off for the past seven years

Later today we will join in the celebration for the release party for the 5th volume of the literary magazine The West Marin Review.  One of Grady's watercolors will be featured and we are quite the proud parents.

Happy Sunday, folks.

Happy first day of June, too.

Where I'm From :: Poem

Where I’m From

by Tammi Salas

I am from the sound of an early morning alarm clock waking my father for work

I am from sugar cinnamon toast for breakfast and chocolate milk mustaches

I am from the astringent odor of Aqua-net hairspray keeping my tight pony tail firmly in place

I am from striped terrycloth shorts and matching tank tops

I am from a wood paneled living room, giant canopied bed and kidney-shaped pool

I am from the most well vacuumed house in the neighborhood

I am from tuna casserole and warm Spam sandwiches with tangy yellow mustard for dinner

I am from 1970’s Southern California suburbia

I am from a hardworking, blue collar man who, at age 12, was made an orphan

I am from a skinny, teenage girl who ran away from home to start anew

I am from secrets and whispers from behind closed doors at night

I am from a surprise to both of them

I am from hopscotch-covered asphalt cul-de-sacs and my mom’s piercing whistle calling us home for dinner

I am from Blue Bird troupes, drill teams and cheerleading squads  

I am from a short line of siblings that make me the eldest

I am from good grades and trips to the Little Red Schoolhouse for back-to-school supplies

I am from unstructured playtime, candy necklaces and record players

I am from bedroom walls that secured my most prized possessions - my albums, my typewriter, my Laura Ingalls-Wilder books and my writing desk with a secret compartment

I am from art-lined closets that housed my drawings, relegated there because they “don’t go” with anything else in the house

I am from Friday nights eating homemade popcorn and watching The Love Boat

I am from Saturday morning big breakfast rituals and manic “girls only” housecleaning chores 

I am from Sunday night baths and the sound of a stopwatch ticking indicating 60 Minutes was about to start

I am from a family that created itself from nothing

I am from a family that played house for over two decades

I am from a family that imploded just as I was navigating adulthood

I am from all of this and it serves me

I am from all of this and it haunts me

I am from nostalgia

I am from young love

I am from George & Donna Beth.

weekending :: mother's day

Artwork circa 1976

Mother's Day always feels a little loaded to me.  I know I have a lot of quiet expectations for the day and sometimes I wrestle with those feelings.

My husband's mom died when he was six years old.  He didn't get the chance to go to her funeral.  Shortly thereafter, he had a very stoic, unaffectionate step-mother that raised him for all of those in between years until he went to college (and then his parents divorced).  I always kind of expect him to show Grady how to celebrate me on Mother's Day and you know what?  He doesn't really have those tools in his tool box.

Don't get me wrong, he does the best he knows how to do - but not having a mom who dotes on you or showers you with love and affection can really tweak the way you love people.

Grady growing like a weed among our weeds

With the help and inspiration of Mamalode, I decided to throw a little Mother's Day Eve party with a handful of my friends who are also mothers.  If you're reading this and you know me, well, you know I love the eve of just about anything - birthdays, xmas, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day.   It was completely low key.  Everyone brought appetizers and a bottle of wine.  Husbands dropped their wives off and picked them up when it was all said and done.

We sipped on a lot of sparkling wine, told funny stories, talked about schools, cursed a fair amount and laughed really hard.  I don't get to see these moms very often, but it felt so good to come together and share our journey of motherhood.  I'm absolutely going to do this again next year.

My husband and son usually cook and clean up on mother's day.  This year was no exception.  I woke up early and grabbed my pillow, blanket and book and sat outside watching the sunrise until both of my guys woke up.

My silly models posed for me while I figured out my Polaroid Land Camera settings
Steve's hair is epic in these photos

Steve taught Grady how to make me coffee and fixed breakfast while I doodled and painted at the kitchen table in my art journal.

Grady retreated to his art studio for most of the day, surfacing only to make himself a PB&J and to grab more books and supplies from his bedroom.

My husband decided to give me the best present.  Wait for it . . . we purged several of our kitchen cabinets and loaded up my car with donations for the thrift store.  I know, I know - romantic, right?  He also cleaned up his office and tidied up the garage.  Usually, he's working for most of the day on Mother's Day, but today he was available and present and that was the best gift.  All of us together working on the house and/or our projects.

Blurry Polaroid Landcamera photo using black/white film
Mother's Day 2014

I also realized that asking for what I want on Mother's Day is okay.  Often times I just suppress it and hope my guys read my mind.  This year, I asked for the house to myself the evening before Mother's Day to celebrate with my friends.  I asked Grady to make me a card.  I asked for us to do a project together (and we did).  So, even though my husband's emotional Mother's Day toolbox was rusty, he totally came through and showed my son how to quietly celebrate me.

And nothing makes a Virgo mom happier than a reorganized kitchen and a homemade card.

Nothing.