Our first day in Praha (Prague). It is a beautiful city with surprizes around many corners. There was a scouting jamboree in one of the city squares we wandered into...hundreds of youngsters, a live band, and a display of many kerchiefs---see the photo of triangular colorful shapes below.

Our niece Courtney and her backpacking pals Kinsey & Becky joined us in Paris!---lovely girls, all! Of course we had to go straightaway to Madamoseille Eiffel, followed by lunch at Cafe Kleber, and a brief walk to the Arc de Triumph. Tres` delightful.

Okay, so if you scroll down the page you will see the photo of the art piece which says "Smoking is War". Well the French are FULLY engaged in this war, and they appear to be winning by the number of enlistees. When last here I found the level of smoking (war) somewhat endearing, like a cultural "tic", yet now after 5+ days of immersion I am less than amuzed. Excuze moi.

PEACE
FASHION
SMOKING (see below)
...it would appear the French believe in war after all.

A magnifique bridge over the Siene.

Chubby Baby at the Musee d'Orsay...wouldn't you hate to have your chubbiest moment captured, then put on display for all to see, forever and ever, and time immemorial? Talk about child abuse, sheesh.

Savannah wouldn't pose.

Today is Tuesday.
"The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."
Savannah was relieved.
She didn't want to go in anyway.

Who in the world wouldn't want a miniature Eiffel Tower submerged in a gel-like substance which will in fact burn when that handy little wick is lit? That's what I thought, and so I am bringing one home for each and every one of you. Whoever leaves me the most comments while I'm gone gets to choose their color first!

Last night, after climbing the many stairs to Sacre Coure (Sacred Heart). That is Paris in the background.

Choose your weapon.

From the Picasso museum.

Even doorways in France are charming.

The Picasso Museum...who knew he was one of my favorite artists?

The Hall of Mirrors, Versailles

Chapel ceiling at Versailles

Bonjour from Paris. We arrived Friday morning and rendevou'd with Savannah at the airport. After checking in to our hotel, we ventured out for the Eiffel Tower via the Metro. I am in love and awe of this train system, and the tube in London as well. Both systems put BART to shame.

We approached the tower from the end with the peace monument and heard the sounds of a live band playing nearby...after about 3 seconds Savannah said it sounded like a worship band. A few minutes later she and I wandered over to check it out while Craig was on a call, and SURE ENOUGH this group of youngsters were singing "worship" songs in english..."Jesus, you're the only one I can love"...a freckled young teen and her pre-teen friend approached us with flyers and tracts---"we're just here spreading the word...there are some really great camps this summer, with lots of activities, really fun activities." Miss Freckles is from Florida, her friend from New York, here on a "mission trip" no doubt. Just there in Paris to spread the word. Sweet.

I shook off my embarassment and proceeded to enjoy l'eiffel....

Birch grove; one of my favorite types of tree, the birch.

Another public art installation; illustrations by children reproduced on metal plaques. Delightful.

Public art installation; near Tower Bridge, London

Upon reflection....

St. Paul's Cathedral

Tower Bridge

Par le vous Anglaise?

We are not in France yet, however the WiFi company here at the hotel in London is a French company, and therefore I seem to only be able to access blogger in French---good thing I mostly remember what the little boxes and symbols mean. The main thing I want to report today is also related to said wifi company: it will occasionaly let me look at my email (some, not all) but so far will not allow any replying to occur. As Eliot on Scrubs likes to say, FRICK FRICK FRICK. Earlier I attmepted to post some pix, but NON said the system. Frick, says moi.

Our hotel is directly across from the Tower of London and 2-ish blocks from the Tower Bridge. Had my photos loaded you could see how cool the bridge is...never fear, i shall try again.

So today Craig was gone with work stuff all day. I took the tube all by my lonesome over to the Victoria & Albert Museum, wandered around it and bought myself lunch. How often do I eat lunch at a restaurant alone?---never. Then tubed back to the hotel and NAPPED. Jet lag is a bitch---makes me want to sleep during the day, then have my brain become quite awake between 4 and 6 am. Weird. I may resort to some Tylenol PM tonight.

Write and tell me how much you miss me! Lie if you must.

THE SKIES WERE NEVER FRIENDLIER

Craig had the brilliant idea of upgrading our tix from SFO to Heathrow into business class, using frequent flier miles. Did I mention BRILLIANT? We were upstairs in the plane, wide, comfy seats arranged in pairs with reclinging ability and rising footrests like a proper La-z-boy. Shortly after we took off, we were offered complimentary juice, champagne, or sparkling water served in glass tumblers and with actual lemon wedges. I felt as if I was spending 10 or so hours in a lovely restaurant where I was able to nap or watch films in between lovely meals served with linen napkins and chilled silverware! I felt SO spoiled, SO happy, SO afraid of returning to my real life in economy class. Ah well, I'll soldier on around the EU in coach, reminding myself how VERY privileged I am, lemon & linen or no.

Wedding Blessing for Evan & Lani

NEW WORKS

I'm Scared


This morning I picked up a book I bought at Thrift Town yesterday, began reading the back, then, alarmed, randomly read inside portions. Quickly, though not quickly enough, I realized I had already read the book. I think I even bought it new at Costco. This was on top of asking Craig last night "what ever happened to 'Six Feet Under'?---and then within about two seconds realizing I had indeed watched the SERIES FINALE when it aired a year or so ago.

If this is indeed the beginning of me losing my mind, you all can look back and know when it was in the early stages. And I am taking comfort knowing my children Gordon and Samantha will look after me.

It was all those years of aluminum cookware, wasn't it? Drat. I really am scared.

Moments ago I finished reading this book. It is a memoir by Julia Scheeres and is moving, powerful, tragic, depressing, and makes me want to strangle some very specific people, beginning with her parents. It is her account of growing up with two adopted brothers who were black while her family (including other siblings) and their surrounding community was very very white. Just one of the things really pissing me off is the account of what the "christian" reform school was like that she and one of her brothers were independantly sent to. Apparently it is still in existence, and imo, is an evil evil organization, and deserves to be exposed as such. The name of the "school" is Escuela Caribe, and is located in the Dominican Republic. AAACK. This kind of abuse, and especially calling it God's work, makes my blood boil. They deserve to be exposed as the scum they appear to be in the author's account. The parent organization is New Horizon Youth Ministries and the author and other alumni started a website to expose the truth about the reform school empire at www.nhym-alumni.org for those interested in reading more.

rain makes me
sad
every drop
like tears
welling bursting falling
a picture of
my soul weeping
dampness and
cold shivering
forever
drop by drop
torrents of sorrow

Most recent creation: Steve's tee...will he like it? Stay tuned.

My sweet kids!...aren't they cute?

Another recent work...i can't decide if i like it or if it's just cheese-y. Should i paint over it?

RECENT WORKS

Tee for Vee


Pug for Me

Mornings Are Humbling

this face
is mine
not a traded-up
trophy face
and if the light is just right
dim
off
it reminds me
of
what we used to
be:
young


Lb 2007

SACRED GROUNDS
hayes street, SF
open mic thursdays, 7p


thursday night we did something fun--a friend of craig's told him about an open mic night in the haight at which he planned to perform so we went in for it.....dive-y little coffee shop, many characters showed up to do their gig...one guy who kinda "mc"-ed the evening was called mr. natural...300+ pounds, ZZ Top style beard, receding hairline but long and pulled into a thin greasy pony, large 80's-esque glasses with tape holding one side together....too much "natural"---take a shower, dude. contrasted by the fresh-faced lanky maybe-20-year-old guy who introduced himself as from north carolina, and this was his first time to perform in california...he and his buddy just drove cross country and were shell-shocked at the cost of living here. i suggested they get 18 more roommates and then they'd be able to make it just fine. they must not have the INTERNET in north carolina where you can research housing prices all over the world..................oh, and the trio, two of whom were father and son, the son being maybe 11 and amazing on the djembe drum. so sweet.....omg, how could i almost forget the guy who opened by telling us he's a recovering addict in a program ( i had to instigate a round of applause), and then introduced his second song by explaining he wasn't quite sure where it had come from as he doesn't have a girlfriend, and didn't cheat on the girlfriend he doesn't have, but there it is. he had that nervous-pent-up energy feel to him, and his leg just jumped and danced and made visible the passion in his song soaked soul.
the view into humanity was beautiful tender vulnerable raw. i sat there marveling in and longing for that passion for music in my soul...perhaps it is a mercy i don't have it...i have enough to deal with in attempting to live out and in the passions i do have.............but if i can't have the music, can i at least smoke?

I can't figure out how to title this post, so for now it won't have one. Or perhaps I should borrow the line from Kurt Cobain "come as you are", which the city council of Aberdeen (his home town, and next-door-town to my hometown), was snookered into putting on the "welcome to....." sign as you arrive. The story goes the suggestion to honor Kurt by using one of his lyrics was voted down, so someone suggested come as you are, and everyone thought that was a fine idea, and much less controversial than words from some dead druggie. But that phrase doesn't really capture what I'm going to try and say..."STAY as you are" would be more fitting. At least that is one of the feelings I get when there, that things don't change, and things or people who do are viewed rather suspiciously. I realize I am not objective, and all these impressions may be mine alone and unconnected to real life there. But as soon as we drive into town, I'm ready to leave. I feel suffocated and anxious. Maybe it's just the past that I want to get away from...actually, i think that is part of it, but not all as I get similar claustrophobic feelings in other small towns. In thinking about it I believe it has to do with not having options, feeling trapped.

As you may have noticed the two houses pictured are distinctly different, yet both represent aspects of my childhood. I'm also using their differentness as an illustration of my conflicting feelings regarding the place I spent those years of growing up. All this is on my mind because we spent two days visiting family there right before christmas. I have a sibling who has built a life there, and there are aspects I really admire about that choice. I just couldn't do it, and needed out of there...but that doesn't mean it can't be the right choice for others.

So, the houses...the ramshackle peeling paint one illustrates in some way how I feel when there..."going back", almost like traveling back in time...or like a time warp where parallel paths have moved along, but that one stood still yet decayed all at once...and so many of my memories of growing up there are of dampness and rain, grey skies, that distinctive smell of wet cement, an empty feeling inside---not unique to being there, yet always magnified when there............................And then the red house...well, that's where I lived from age 11 to 18. It felt like longer than seven years. I guess it's in that way that time is longer when you are a child. They are truly formative years, the childhood ones, and I'm still trying to make sense of them and sort them out, and see the good and the not so much. The house, "The Castle" as it was known in town (a big fish in a small pond), so tidy outside and in (my sister and I did most of the housecleaning), tidy like a museum as that's what it was (has since been made into a bed & breakfast: www.hoquiamscastle.com )...yet we lived there, and didn't know quite how to do it with strangers walking through and peering into our lives and rooms and closets. "Don't you just love living here??" so many of them asked...well, actually, NO...and if you thought about it for even a nanosecond you'd realize no teenager, nor really anyone, would want to live in a place with no sign of themselves, no privacy, being looked at all the time, with the added requirement of escorting people (for the entrace fee, of course) through the rooms---with a smile and good attitude, goddamnit. Home was a castle, but it was no haven.

And Mom (Dad), if you read this, please know I love you, I truly know you were doing your best, and it wasn't all bad. It was hard, I wouldn't have picked it, I would rather do without my right arm than ever live in that town again, but oh well, it gives me an interesting story as not too many people can say they grew up in a castle.

1-800-WE-KILL-U


Friday night, or the wee hours of Saturday morning, I was ready to call this number and arrange a house call by Dr. Kevorkian, or anyone else willing to put me out of my misery. It is amazing how just a few hours of puking, chills, and intestinal distress (Meeg calls it "peeing out your butt"; i call it no fun at all, especially when you're throwing up at the same time) can bring me to a place of no principles whatsoever, ready to endorse assisted suicide---as long as it's mine, that is.

I don't know how it started, but I do know when: around midnight Friday. I thought I was so tired I was getting naseous...nope, I was SO getting the flu, and preparing to puke and shiver and, well, you know. Between 5 and 6 a.m. my body decided it was sufficiently empty and could spend the next 16-ish hours with every bone, joint, and my head especially, aching. My room was far too bright for such an aching head (as was the computer screen and the TV). If there was a black hole nearby I would have dove into it. As it was I hibernated on the living room couch, drapes drawn, doors closed, doggies present, with an occasional shuffle out to the kitchen for a glass of Sprite.

Okay, what's really weird is that Craig was just as sick as me, at the exact same time, but not the same bug. His was respiratory rather than intestinal, but he was equally knocked out at the same time. We felt like we lost an entire 24 hours. Each of us was able to get a decent night's sleep on Saturday, and felt a lot better Sunday morning. For me, however, I didn't really feel back to normal until late this afternoon, and perhaps not entirely 100% as coffee after dinner was still unappealing...I opted for tea.

Tea is so loyal...I mostly ignore her, think of her as the slightly dim stepchild to my brilliant, high achieving first-born-son coffee(shall we call him "Peet"?), yet when I need her most, reach for her in my time of weakness and need, she never overpowers nor gloats...just shows up---hot, sweet, mild, comforting---my djarling.

I'm a Great Auntie


Not just because I'm mostly fabulous (when I'm not flipping off piggy drivers who tick me off, or some other lame thing), but because my neice gave birth to a beautiful baby girl last night! We don't know her name yet so I'm calling her Pinky. She was 8 lbs. 10 oz., 21" long, and delivered via C section. This makes my sister a grandma!...she must be MUCH OLDER than me.