You know you're old when...

You ask for fish oil pills for Christmas.

More cuteness

K with the snake that I made for her. Carrying on a proud family tradition of cozying up to reptiles. (This one's for Grandpa Zorro.)


He's cute even when he's about to sneeze!


With a cousin, and Grandma Z in the background.


Looking up to big sis.


His shirt says "Peek a Boo" and has a ghost.

Auntie Olivia

This week I am visiting my brother and his family, to meet the newest family member. Here he is with his big sister. Aren't they adorable?

Here is someone else adorable...

Stories about Dinosaurs

I was raised with boys. I have a brother that's just 18 months younger than I am, and another brother 2 years younger than him. (I also have a brother that's 9 years younger than I am and a sister who is 13 years younger. But there is enough of a gap that much of my childhood was informed by my first two brothers.) Growing up primarily among boys affected some of my habits and interests, as I'm sure having an assertive (that's a more positive word than bossy) older sister affected theirs. For example, I probably would not know very much about dinosaurs if not for them. They were crazy about dinosaurs when we were young. My parents are the type of parents who were happy to encourage any interest that would lead to learning, and so we got library books about dinosaurs, went to museums to see fossils (my dad even arranged a tour of the unseen part of a dinosaur museum with a friend of his who worked there. We got to see how they uncovered and cleaned the fossils), and even took a trip to a place where there had been a significant fossil find. My brothers and I knew the correct names for each dinosaur, what the difference between a carnivore and a herbivore was, and much preferred the video of Maya, which tells what a dinosaurs daily life would have been like realistically, to that of any of the Land Before Time movies. (It was very upsetting to us that they didn't use the correct names for the dinosaurs in The Land Before Time.) Dinosaurs were a prevalent theme in our lives. I don't really think that much about dinosaurs on a day-to-day basis now, but something reminded me of my childhood love of dinosaurs the other day, and several memories surfaced. So I thought I would share them here.
* * *
The other day, I saw a woman walking a three-legged dog. The dog's front right leg was missing. The dog didn't seem at all bothered by it's disability, it moved confidently and happily along. However, I found myself thinking: “Why would you want a dog who was missing a leg?” But then I remembered a toy dinosaur that I had when I was little—somewhere around 5 to 8 years old. It was a plastic inflatable Apatasauraus, my favorite dinosaur, about 16 inches long and 10 inches high—just the right size to tuck under your arm or snuggle with. Although maybe not as naturally cuddly as a stuffed animal, I thought nothing of including her among my favorites. I think that a plastic dinosaur made more sense to me than a stuffed one—they were cold-blooded, after all, and didn't have fur. I had gotten her from a dinosaur museum that I had visited with my parents and brothers, and so she had those happy memories associated with her. One of her legs, I think it was the back right one, wouldn't inflate. I don't remember if we discovered this before we bought her or after, but rather than being upset about it, the defect endeared her to me. Sometimes I would rub the place where that leg met the body. I loved that dinosaur, and felt very protective of her. I named her “Pat.” (Clever, right?) Once I even insisted on taking Pat to church. I put her on the floor, next to the coat rack, with my boots during the services. When church was over, she wasn't there. I was devastated. My father patiently searched for the church with me, and finally found her—deflated, in the garbage can. I don't know if someone saw the bad leg and assumed that she was no longer wanted, or if it was a teenage prank, as my father guessed. But after being dusted off and re-inflated, she was just fine. I wonder whatever happened to her. I wouldn't be surprised to find her carefully packed in a box in my parent's basement.
* * *
My brother S especially loved dinosaurs, and at the age of 4 had plans to become a paleontologist one day. He wasn't the most adventurous eater. One night at dinner, my father attempted to get him to try something that he was refusing to eat, by saying, “But what about when you are a famous paleontologist, on a dig in the Middle East? They won't have the types of food there that you are used to, so you'll have to try new things. Why don't you start practicing now, by trying this?” S prompted replied, “When I am a famous paleontologist and I go on digs, I will bring a whole refrigerator full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with me.” I don't remember my father having a response to that.
* * *

I don't remember how this game started, but it was probably my father's invention. Whenever anyone said “Parasauralophus,” which is a dinosaur with a ridge that protrudes from the back of it's head, they were asking to be tickled. We referred to it as “the tickle word.” If one of us kids said it, our dad would chase after us and tickle us. If he said it, any one, or sometimes all three, of us would attempt to tickle him. Usually we didn't want to be tickled. But we delighted in trying to come as close to saying the tickle word without actually saying it. Sometimes we would team up—I would say “Para”, J would say “Saura,” and S would say “Lophus.” Other times we'd start out the word, but end it some other way. My dad would sometimes try to catch us off guard by holding up a toy Parasauralophus and asking “What dinosaur is this?” We had to make some rules for the game. One that my mother insisted on was that if we were at the table, we couldn't tickle. She made this rule to keep the game from interfering with dinners, but sometimes we would yell “Parasauralophus” and then run and grab hold of the dinning room table, claiming immunity. When we were teenagers, the game persisted with our younger siblings, cousins, and even the children in the daycare my mother ran. But now we were part of the adult team. One of the girls invented a new rule—she added an anti-tickle word, “bubbles.” If you said bubbles, it cancelled out Parasauralophus, and you couldn't be tickled. It's a great idea, although almost makes the game too easy. It will be interesting to see if this game continues into the next generation, and if the tickle word stays the same.

Il Pleut

I should have left for home when I realized how dark it had become outside--much darker than it should be at not yet six o'clock. But I wanted to stay a little longer at work, so I tried not to think about the probability of rain.

I could have put my bike in the basement and walked home with my umbrella, but it was only sprinkling a little, and I figured I could get home before it started to rain in earnest. I passed a woman snapping the plastic cover over her toddler's stroller, and in response to his protest she said, "Il pleut" (It's raining).

There was a sheen on the road from the water, and my brakes squeaked loudly. I thought about how my grandfather Art, if he were alive, would worry about me riding in the rain. I imagined that God has let him be my guardian angel so that he can fly above me and keep me safe.

I arrive at my apartment without incident. Wet, but not soaking. How nice a warm shower will be, after I dry off my bike. My father often repeats Lt. Dan's rules of: "Don't do Anything Stupid and Take Care of your Feet." He instilled in us another rule as well, even if it was not verbalized as often: "Take Care of your Bike."

I carry my bike up the stairs and find an old towel to start cleaning my bike. M is home, so we talk as I work. I am glad that she is here. I don't like being alone too much right now.

The weather fits my mood. A little gloomy, but not oppressive. Occasional tears, but not sobbing. There have been stretches of calm and peace that last longer as the days go by. When I do feel a wave of sadness come, I try to remember the Buddhist teaching, to think "This is what it feels like to be human." It helps.

I feel like the little girl in my nursery class, who was having a hard time yesterday. She would be playing, and then tear up, and come to me with her arms outstretched. I would hold her and reassure her, until she was ready to to play again. A little while later it would happen again.

Do we ever outgrow the need to be held?

Brooklyn Loves Me

So I am almost settled in Brooklyn. I still have a few boxes to unpack, and we are playing musical rooms for the summer, but it is starting to feel like home.

I found a rec center within biking distance, where I can swim. The photo above is from a section of the bike path on the way there.

Here is another sight on the way:



a detail:



If that doesn't make you want to go to the dentist, I don't know what will.

Question:

If the result is the same, does the motivation matter?

my 'stache

Here is a sneak preview of the props I am making for K's wedding reception photobooth... I'm excited for the actual event. Hopefully I get everything done in time and it doesn't get crushed in my luggage...

My baby has arms!

I know that all of you eagerly anticipate updates about my house plants. Well, I have some exciting news to share today. My cactus has sprouted arms!

This cactus is a survivor. He, of three cacti that I purchased together from Ikea, alone survived the curiosity of Sammy and Jeter, my roommates cats (3 apartments ago). He also briefly co-habituated with a fungus. I have repotted him once, and he sprouted up so tall that he can't stand up straight. (I have been debating repotting him again, to see if I can fatten him up.)

When he first started sprouting arm buds, I was worried. They looked like weird little nubs. But now they are presentable arms. I'm so proud! Now if I can only get him to stand up straight...

I have a special fondness for cacti. The first plant that I ever owned was a cacti, when I was probably only 7 or 8 years old.

Soon I will post photos of my other plants. The elm bonsai from W & J's wedding is sprouting again. A relief, since I thought that I might have killed it. That would not have been a good omen. There is another plant that sprouted in it's pot, I need to figure out what it is.



My brother M had to hold the cactus up for this photo.

Brooklyn here I come

I am finally moving to brooklyn. I went and signed a lease today, along with R. She, M. and I will be sharing a 3 bedroom near the brooklyn museum of art in crown heights. I may not even need a monthly subway pass anymore, as I am within biking or walking distance of work!

This is all I have to say

Time Travel

I've recently finished a few entries that I had started but not posted. They post according to the date that I started, so I thought I'd draw your attention to them. You can read about:

My adventures with chickens

A walk in the park

A good book

Here is also a photo from a series of self portraits that I am currently working on:



The series is about what my hair looks like when I wake up.

Check back soon at my photo blog to see more (hopefully I will start posting there...)

Day Off

It is almost 2 pm, and I am finishing off my breakfast with a small dish of ice cream. (My breakfast also included a piece of applesauce raisin almond bread and some sunchips.)

This day is not going the way that I had planned.

Well, I better shower and get ready to go the the laundromat.

A Lemon and a Star

A friend lent me a wonderful book, A Lemon and a Star by E.C. Spykman. It's about four siblings and their adventures, set in the early 1900s, which is when my great-grandmother was a girl. The friend who lent it to me said that it is based on the author's childhood, and is the kind of children's book that adults often enjoy more than children. (I did read some to my teenage sister, and she thought it lacked plot. I enjoyed the rambling quality.)

Here's an excerpt from the second page:

"Her intention had been to climb up to the middle of the old maple at the lower end of the barn field, unpack, and set up housekeeping in a place of peace and quiet, where in the cool shelter she could concentrate on hating Theodore. It had seemed a good idea. The maple stood alone and the approach of enemies could be seen from all sides. The brook ran along one side of it for water and Aunt Charlotte's vegetable garden stretched away on the other side for food. But now she was on her way home, because it had not worked. Living in a tree was quite impractical. Nothing would stay where you put it."

Later, something said by the 8-year-old Hubert:

"Nobody'll marry me," he said, "till I've got a mustache and that takes years."

And:

"She liked sitting with Hubert doing a rather risky thing thought up by Ted."

Sping Preview

My windowsill in full bloom.

The last few days have been sunny and warm. On Thursday J and I went to Central Park. It was beautiful. We ended up at the Bethesda Fountain. On the terrace was a group of break-dancers with a large crowd, and along the other side of the fountain was a cellist. There was no water in the fountain, so we climbed in and sat at the base of the statue. It was nice to bask in the sun and watch the cellist and a little girl who was playing nearby. J said that being inside the Bethesda Fountain was probably the best place that anyone could hope to be.



Here is a photo of the fountain when it does have water in it (and a bride & groom in front. This is the photo I could find, from a wedding I photographed.)

Soon the cellist packed up and a saxophonist started. J was hoping that they would play a duet.

Later we saw a couple under a tree standing facing a woman with an open book. We stopped to figure out what was happening, and decided they must be getting married. (Although we didn't see any witnesses.) There was another couple standing near us, also watching. They turned to us and the man said, "we're next, then you!" It's always interesting to see who assumes that we are a couple and who assumes that we are siblings. It did seem like the perfect day to get married--early spring, one of the first really beautiful days, in a park teeming with happy people, under a tree, privately.

We headed back toward the temple, where I was volunteering that night.

Here are the other plants on my windowsill:



The bonsai elm from J & W.



An orange seed that I planted.

The bulbs that I planted around the trees outside the community garden are also coming up:





It's nice to walk past them and realize that I helped!

We'll see how long the weather holds.

Suspend your disbelief

Every once in awhile, living in New York City, I'll come across a location film shoot. It doesn't happen often enough to cease being a novelty, however. It's even more amazing when the film set comes to me! Recently I looked out the window at work to see this site:



I recognized the cars from a previous filming session from a few months ago. It's for an HBO drama, set during prohibition in Atlantic City. Apparently the rector's home next to the church down the block is one of the houses in the show, although probably not a frequently shown location.

We got to watch a couple of guys drive the cars off of the flatbeds. It was quite a contrast to see the antique cars juxtaposed with the modern trucks.



Last time they were filming, we got to see some of the actors, dressed in period clothing. This time, they were doing a night scene, and weren't starting to film until 8 pm, so I didn't get to see anyone.

Even more impressive, to me anyway, than the cars was the giant softbox light they were hoisting up. Imagine being able to light up the sky!

International Baking Party

A few days ago, my sister and I had a baking party via skype. It was Friday night for me, and I made peanut butter cookies in my kitchen in nyc. It was Saturday afternoon for her, and she made cheesy biscuits in her kitchen in Thailand. They were both delicious, although my cookies were a little dry. I added some milk and some applesauce, which made them less dry but more biscuit like.

We both got a kick out of this illustration from my vintage Joy of Cooking that my brother got me one Christmas:



I don't think that it really describes how to press cookies with a fork.

Hooray for skype!

Life in Brooklyn

Gloria just hanging out.

I had a chance recently to see what it would be like to live in Brooklyn. My friends K & P were going out of town for a week, and needed someone to take care of Gloria, the cat, and their three chickens (I never did learn the names of the chickens. I regret this). It worked out well for me, since their place is closer to my office than my own is.

It's always interesting to step into someone's life in that way, getting to live with their stuff. I enjoyed browsing their books and music, and reading their Mother Earth News magazines. I may have to get a subscription myself. Playing records on their record player was a treat.

While I was there, we had the worse storm and snowfall of the winter. P noticed the forecast and emailed to instruct me on how to protect the chicken coop. I managed to finish putting the blankets and tarps around it just as it started to snow.



P told me it didn't have to be pretty, but I think it looks nice



Notice the square knots--I am very proud of those knots. Many thanks to Bapu for teaching me.



I wasn't sure if the chicken wire on the top would really do anything, but it did keep snow off of the coop itself.



the chickens were still able to walk around inside.



E came over on Sunday, and we cooked some salmon that K & P had caught on a fishing trip in Alaska. (K is from Alaska) Gloria was very excited.

Oh--I also went to the very first meeting of the Brooklyn stake singles branch, a historic event. I saw several people that I know there, a few of whom know my aunt and uncle from when they lived in Brooklyn.

I think I need to move to Brooklyn. And maybe get some chickens.

I *heart* Nursery

About a month ago, I was asked to be one of the teachers for the 2 year olds at church. There are 3 teachers, and 7 kids, which is a pretty good ratio. They can be hard to keep up with, though. We have to have lots of activities and distractions planned to hold off chaos and disorder.

Their are few things better, though, than having a toddler who has just woken up from her nap chose to nestle down into your lap and stay awhile.

My First Celebrity Crush

I don't often have celebrity crushes, but the one that stands out most in my mind is the first one I ever had, at the age of 6 or 7. I was in love with Billy Joel. I knew that he was too old for me, so I fantasized about marrying his son. (As it turns out, he doesn't have a son, just one daughter, who is 4 years younger than I am. His third wife, who he divorced last year, is my age. So I guess that I do have a shot at him, although he is 32 years older than I am, and I've moved on in the last 20 years.) Somehow, this crush came up at work awhile ago. My boss was surprised, since he doesn't consider Joel to be very good-looking. But at the age of 7, I loved the photo of him on the back of the greatest hits album, with his crazy-curly hair, almost a fro, and his jean jacket slung over his shoulder.

In our home in Utah, my parents had a record player, along with a selection of records from their lives before children. My mother often put on records for my brothers and I to dance to--although our definition of dancing was loose--more often marching or hopping around in a circle. There are photos in my photo albums of us in over-sized tee-shirts, probably our pjs, rocking it out. We did learn to be careful not to dance too close to record player--it had a tendency to skip when you jumped up and down right next to it. One of our favorite albums was Billy Joel's Greatest Hits. As a matter of fact, that was one of the first CDs I bought as a teenager; I think my brother and I bought it together. When I was leaving for college, we fought over who got to keep it. I won. He later bought another copy. (This was before we had i-tunes and could have continued to share from the one copy.)

Today I pulled up i-tunes on my computer to listen to some music while cooking. Billy Joel's Greatest Hits came up. It's funny to think back about the ideas I had about certain songs as a kid. I often took the lyrics very literally--I imagined the woman in "The Stranger" jumping ninja style to give him a swift kick in the face. My very favorite song from the album as a kid was "Only the Good Die Young." I am baffled by this now, and unsure why, or what exactly I thought the song was about. I wanted to be a good girl--I guess that the idea of dying young sounded somehow romantic. I remember envisioning volcanoes erupting during the song, I have no idea where this image came from. I certainly had no idea what he was really talking about. I did, and still do, like "Just the Way You Are," "Tell Her About It," and "She's Always a Woman," for pretty straight-forward reasons (although that last one is a little twisted, if you think too much about it. I still like the sentiment). "You May Be Right" is another good one. At the lyrics "turn out the lights, don't try to save me," I envisioned him left alone in a dark room, trying not to be sacred of the dark. "Remember how I found you there alone in your electric chair" brought an image of a row of beauty parlor hair-drier chairs. I think that we even had a mini-record of Alvin and the Chipmunks with a cover of that song. Why anyone thought it made sense for the Chipmunks to sing that particular song is beyond me. For the song "Goodnight Saigon," I remember my mom telling us that Joel had not gone to Vietnam himself, but knew many people who had. When I was in high school, we had a Vietnam vet come to talk to us, and he used the song to start off his presentation, which was very powerful.

Another song that has a very different meaning for me now than it did when I was younger is Cat Steven's "Wild World." As a kid, I always imagined it as a father singing to his daughter (I think that the lines "I'll always remember you as a child, girl" and "don't be a bad girl" gave me this impression). He was giving her advice as she grew up and left him, even though he was having a hard time letting go of her and letting her be an adult. One day a few years ago, listening to this song after being in a relationship that I wished would have lasted, I can see it as him singing to a lover who is leaving. I wish that I had the same grace and goodwill towards my ex as he expresses.

Given my love of Billy Joel and Modern Dance, I am surprised that I didn't see the musical ballet "Movin' Out," which is made up of several of Joel's songs and choreographed by Twyla Tharp. It was showing in NYC when I was in for my internship during college. Maybe I didn't see it because ticket prices were too high. Or maybe I didn't want anything to dilute my memories and associations of the songs from childhood.

Babies Wait for No Woman

I should have followed K's advice and finalized my doula arrangement with the client who was due at the end of Feb. I was busy, though, and thought that I still had plenty of time. I called her today to check in, and discovered that the baby came on Saturday! She had asked her husband to call me, but he didn't have the number handy. Fortunately, from the info I'd given her by email, she was able to talk to a midwife and find a hospital to deliver at where they gave her the time that she needed to labor so that she didn't have to have a c-section.

She had contacted a couple weeks ago about recommendations for a doctor or midwife. The doctor that she had been seeing for pre-natal care was insisting that she needed a c-section, because he thought the baby was too big. She was uncomfortable with this conclusion, since the pregnancy had been normal and there were no other risk factors. I'm glad that she had the confidence in her own reasoning to look for a second opinion. She was able to have the baby without surgery, and both she and the baby are doing well.

I did get to have dinner tonight with my first doula client and her family. Her baby is 6 months now, and I could have spent all night playing with her. (Well, at least until she got really cranky.) She almost seems like my godchild--I got to watch her come into this world. How amazing is that? Next time, I won't put things off. You never know when the baby will come.

Spring is Coming

Here's my proof, right on the window sill:






Even the dead flowers are pretty:

Plantains and Potatoes--same difference?

So, I recently (meaning yesterday) learned that plantains are known as "potatoes of the air," as well as being in the banana family. It turns out that potatoes (the ones in the dirt) contain potassium in amounts comparable to that found in bananas. This doesn't make me want to start putting chunks of potato into my breakfast cereal, but it does make me feel better about making mashed potatoes for dinner. Maybe we should start calling potatoes "bananas of the ground." Actually, I think the French already call potatoes the apples of the earth...but that's comparing apples and bananas!

My view of NY...

I took this photo last March, on a bus ride to Boston. (To visit J & W and take their engagement photos!) I believe it's the view crossing the Williamsburg bridge in Brooklyn, overlooking a cemetery in Queens with the Manhattan skyline behind it. So that covers three of the five boroughs. I love the contrast of the tombstones and the skyline, the quiet and the motion, the blur of the moving cars and the smear on the window. The clouds and the snow and the sunset.

I had forgotten about this photo--there are a lot of photos I've taken that I haven't managed to sort through. Then last month a fellow alumni from my college photography program revived a tradition that we had there--an annual print exchange. In searching for a photo to give, I came across this. I really like it; I'm even making a second copy for my wall. I was actually pleasantly surprised by the number of good photos I found from the last year--I hadn't thought I'd been photographing that much. The person who received it in the print exchange likes it too--he says that he doesn't have any photos of the city displayed, and this will be perfect.