Childhood

Just started reading the book club book for September - The Whistling Season by Ivan Doig and found this little nugget literally two pages in...

"childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul"

Isn't it so true? Whether the story is fantasy, all magic, suburban humor, diversely urban, or at times tragic - it is a thing we all have in common - finding our way in this world. I hope my kid's story will be a good one.

LOVE > FEAR

I saw a LOVE>FEAR bumper sticker on a woman’s car one day when I was walking to work. There was something about this sticker that struck me right - so I got online and ordered two, one for me and one for a friend who needs some positive thoughts these days. It’s not like me to buy bumper stickers. Rather I collect ones people give me and keep them in my office so I can mull over those simple smug thoughts to myself. But this one just made me feel like I would be putting some good out in to the world - eventhough it's sitting on my desk.

In picking it apart, I realized I wanted to compartmentalize love and fear as opposites. It is not a Battle Royal of Love versus Fear. If it was, Fear of course probably would believe it can kick Love's arse; and Love would participate believing all would be right in the end. And neither one would be wrong because in those intrinsic forms, they would both need each other. I guess then, it's what side you choose to sit on. Love is not greater than fear but rather the much needed counterpart to "life" that provides perspective that might ease the whole experience.

It's from that vein of thinking that I choose love these days (as cheesy as it sounds). If I could package the concept, I believe it would be the new skinny, fountain-of-youth, lottery-winning elixir of the moment (and I wouldn't need this blog anymore to make all my money - wink). I think it would help all of us to to find peace in where we are at in our life.

The ironic thing is, fear has ruled my life. I've been stifled by how much I've come to understand that in the past year. I can’t even begin to explain how mousy it's made me (in an unmousy, more snotty sort of way). Perspective is everything. There are so many times when I'm caught in the moment knowingly wishing I could just let the fear subside. It’s silly but then again I've been bred to worry about the inevitable or make worry of what’s to come, even when it doesn't. Anticipation is king in my life and anything I can do to analyze the situation, I will. And when it does come, I find a way to muddle through.

In the end, doesn’t it always work out? Sure, it might not work out as planned or how you achingly wanted it to work out but in some strange way, it all makes sense somewhere down the line (maybe that’s the optimist in me). Life moves on, we age and forget pieces of our folly in youth, we get jobs and more responsibilities, we grow more friends and family, and we loose some too. And then we get to the end of the ride and hopefully it has been exhilarating - not without both sides of the coin but with both sides of the coin balancing out (and hopefully landing on heads more than tails).

Johnny's Garden

CSNY

D is a sucker for classic rock. It's one of the things that endeared me to him in the beginning (since he was trying to keep his Fleetwood Mac listening on the DL until I told him I love them). That endearment has morphed in to a somewhat repetitive, underwhelming experience as I wonder why he can't give, say, Indie more of chance?! But alas, it is part of who he is; and with that comes some "traditions" I have grown to love in the guy. For example, I really never listened to CSNY before dating him and now it will always be "D's" music with the songs reminding me of long drives to remote western slope locations in the Nissan or more familiar jaunts to the lovely escapes of Keystone and Carbondale. In any case, D always seems to play Johnny's Garden when he's coming in to his destination. I'm not sure if he even realizes he does it but it's a sign to me that we have almost arrived at pure escape and relaxation.

photo courtesy of Dean Espinosa

We've been escaping to "the country" the past few weekends. My mom has been kind enough to let us put the Swinger on her property for the summer. That alone has aided in the ease of "camping" since I can't seem to carry anything (not that D didn't do most of the prep work as it was). So 1.5 hours out of Denver, we can unlock the door, open the windows, unroll the awning, and make some dinner on a stove in a 70s RV. It's nothing fancy but it will do quite nicely for the time being. It's the first step in a process to get our own little piece of the mountains. We're "trying it on" so to speak and I must admit, it's quite a treat.

We've been up there a a handful of weekends. D getting it all situated (as per his normal Type-A routine). Then me coming up later to bask in the glory of his hard work. We had my mom up one weekend. It was the first time she had actually stayed on her property since since she convinced my dad to buy the land in 1972. At the time, she was 34 and I was no where to be imagined. Funny to think we are the same age in some strange time/space continum. 38 years later though, she got to really soak it in. Finally to escape to the escape she purchased so long ago. I guess it was a different time in so many ways. In any case, I think she took a lot of pride and ownership in the experience.

D does what he can to make this his "end of the world" escape, at least for the time being. It really is why he moved out to Denver in the first place (to live in the mtns). I usually sit in some camping chair trying my hand at watercolor or reading. Things move slowly and lazily and we take naps like it's required. Gingy does what she can to chase the prairie dogs or cook herself in the sun. We watch all the stars pop out at night and repeatedly D will stop and say, "Hold on. Do you hear that? It's the quiet I love the most." ("Yes, the silence is deafening." JK).

And I'll do anything I got to do

Cut my hair and shine my shoes

And keep on singin' the blues

If I can stay here in Johnny's garden

Just the Tip...

JH forwarded me an e-mail with photos of Dalton Ghetti's artwork today. I was pretty inspired by his enthusiasm to create these works of art in a clearly unsaturated medium. Can you believe he never sells any of it, he only gives it away to friends (a true artist of sorts) - or displays it at the New Britain Museum of American Art. The exhibit? Meticulous Masterpieces. Meticulous for sure...for 25 years... when he finally settled on pencils rather than say broom sticks. Can you believe this guy doesn't even use a magnifying glass?! He does however yield a razor blade, sewing needle, and sculpting knife.

A carpenter by day, he does this in his spare time because it makes his heart happy. "I do it from my heart, I do it when I feel like - and I pretty much do it for myself," he said. "It's my own interest in the small things in life that drove me to call people's attention to them."

Wouldn't it be great if we all did something like this everyday? Just to make our heart happy.

Scribbles

I don't know how it happened but I got mugged today. I went into Scribbles, a stationary store on 15th Street, and walked out minus a good portion of $100. It's silly really; I just lost focus. I had no business being there in the first place. I forgot to kick the store in the balls and run for my life. Instead I got hypnotized by the luscious indents of letterpress and the hilariously cute one-liners of a good Mean Card. Oh how I miss card shopping, as one company marketed, "It's like candy for your pen."

In any case, I always want to pass along the yumminess. There are always old reliables, like Mean Cards:

And new friends like, Night Owl Paper Goods, who use eco-friendly sustainably harvested wood and make you feel like a piece of the 70s have been sent to you via envelope.

And I always forget and then re-recognize the upside down 7 and parenthesis mustache of Old Tom Foolery.

What joy in loosing all my hard earned clams.

Down by the Water - Part II

Part II of my St. Augustine Food segment is about Saltwater Cowboys, a restaurant set among the salt marshes just off the inter-coastal. If we looked hard enough, we could have tried to spy my dad's place, but we were focused on the fare - namely getting our fill. Luckily it was still early and we had beat what everyone promised to be "the crowds." It seemed strange to imagine as we walked toward the shack-looking hideaway with it's great old wood and worn out feel. It seemed completely deep south, as if frog legs and alligator tails SHOULD be on the menu in a place like this (the South has a way of making me feel like I'm in a foreign country of sorts for that reason).

I'm not sure what got in to me but we happily chose to sit out on the back porch, forgetting the weight of humidity on our skin the past few days. The view drove home the southern feel with a long dock that seemed to lead to no where, at least with the tide out. The strange sounds of zapping and late afternoon crackled in the background and a den of "stray" cats sat just below the deck, waiting for handouts (during the meal, a few came up to take in the guests, explore their options, and Jedi mind trick us into giving them scraps).

Adding to the already heavy air, we choose to dig right in to the fried goodness of it all. D went with soft shell crabs and I choose to get a good ole fashioned southern fixture - fried chicken, baked potato and cheese grits (cheese in grits?! yes please! with a side of heart-attack thank you very much).

Our server gladly took our order and promised to return with cheesy bread. We had clearly discovered a cheese mecca deep fried in fat with a side of marmalade for sweetness. I was in heaven.

And then the food arrived...

and we lost all real estate on the table (and in our bellies).

By the end of it all, we were in pain with the amount of food we had eaten in the heavy humid air - it felt unbearable. Even our drinks were sweating.

We still managed to order take-away key lime pie and pineapple pecan pie (what I imagined to be different than it was b/c I LOVE pecan pie - the key lime beat it out hands down). Inside the restaurant AC felt unbelievable especially since our pores no longer worked properly - now clogged with both sweat and oil. Families were stuffed in to tables at the front end of the experience while their kids ran around squealing (soon to be in food coma). We looked at some of the old-fashioned photos along the walls and D stopped for a hat (he had to commemorate the best soft-shell crabs he has ever had). When walking out, we passed the droves of people waiting on the front porch to get in. Thank god they had an outside bar or surely the would loose business on the wait. One man said to me as I passed by, "look, dessert!" I wish I would have coolly said, "Thanks, I hear the pie is good too!" (It was one of those moments that you want to have a re-do on for the sheer comedy lost).

Down by the Water - Part I

We were just in Florida...two weeks ago. In any case, we had two really great meals I don't want to let slip away. The food was fantastic, but more so, it was the surroundings that snuck in to my heart.

The first night we were in St. Augustine, we went to a place called the Purple Olive for dinner. We had eaten a few hours before with my dad (after we traversed a good portion of the US and the eastern Florida coastline) but after he went to sleep, it just felt right to take D down along the beach as soon as possible, along the strip that has been so fondly familiar my entire life.

In any case, we found ourselves here for dinner surrounded by local art. It began as one of those meals where you remind yourself, "I really enjoy hanging out with my partner." (D had just returned from the bathroom only to report the table of cougars on the other side of the restaurant checked him out. I liked his candor.) It was that kind of night - where the conversation might take us any place and be light-hearted and fun.

We ordered soup to start. I chose a delicious avocado-based gazpacho. It was breaking towards the end but I thought it was a brilliant and unique take on the old reliable summer soup (I still need to search for a recipe online to make here). D always inspired by a coastline nearby - ordered the Red Snapper Special with black beans. And though I haven't had any fish since I started getting round, my craving for fish and pasta beat out my fear of mercurying my kid to death (too bad the photo doesn't do the plate justice).

As I said, it wasn't really the food as much as the atmosphere. Half-way through our soups, an older man walked in the the room and was seated at a table across from us. He was a character of sorts, a regular for sure. He owned the place the second he walked in - it almost seemed as if he was the night time entertainment the way he commanded every one's attention by speaking in general to the room and so boldly to the staff (they all knew him so well and didn't even have to take his drink order). We were intrigued, as was everyone else. It took us a little while to fully acknowledge his activity and break the privacy of our table but once we opened ourselves up to paying attention, we were taken in by his energy and charm. We even invited him to come sit with us for dinner. He was alone and we knew he had great stories to tell. He turned us down numerous times as he didn't want to interrupt our meal but he still felt inclined to converse from table to table, which we happily did. The staff treated the scene as if it was his normal routine. It was the kind of thing that sounds annoying in theory when you're out for dinner but everyone in the room really did not seem to mind and I felt like we were the lucky winners who got the man's attention first. D had to ask where he was from and find out what his story was. He shared his background about living in New Jersey and starting a business after he retired from Mountain Bell (shout out to my pops who worked there for years as well, adding a bit of irony), he shared about his kids and being married and loosing his wife, all between sips of Merlot and our meals being delivered. There were moments where we drifted to our entrees and sat in silence again but always we would return to further the conversation. It was an interesting back and forth. "Are you sure you won't come sit with us?" we pleaded. "No, it's better this way," he replied (it didn't suit his otherwise outgoing personality).

We had dessert to make the moment last longer (that and it sounded friggin' off the hook - Chocolate Gateau made daily and meticulously by the chef). We wanted more time with our new friend. I could have taken him home in a take-away bag. He told us things like, what he saw when he saw us looking at each other (which made us look at each other more) and why we should appreciate the little things. He made D get up and pull my chair out when I came back from the bathroom. And when D asked for his bill along with ours, the waiter said "no" in a way that explained we were not the first people to ask and also not the first people to get shot down. One couple even came over to introduce themselves to him. D finished another glass of wine to drag our time out even more - we didn't want to leave while he was still eating. There were few people left in the room when we finally got up from our table to leave. I went over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He held both my hands in his in a way that reminded me of my grandfather; in a way that was so kind-hearted and appreciative and delicate for a man. He asked for one more hug, which I gladly gave. He looked at us both with his lifetime behind him and ours ahead of us. He told us to take care of each other one last time. Even thinking about it now, I can't gush enough about this man's energy.

I wanted so badly to take his photo from across our table but something in me felt it would be an invasion of the magic. Rather our waiter captured this one horrid shot that seems to be taken from a 1991 disposable camera (can you dig my SATC Sara Jessica Parker moment with my entree dish in front of my pregnant belly? Yes I did just SJP myself - it's my blog, I can do that here).

En Plein Air

"in the open air" - a French expression particularly used to describe the act of painting outdoors

Art night is always so inspiring and this past one was a special treat. We made our way over to Cheesman Park for some late day light as it flirted with natural colors and general park activity.

I always forget what a great view Cheesman presents: not only can you catch glimpses of the front range but you also get a great perspective of downtown. The Acropolis sits as a vantage point, alive with the smooth moves of a yoga class directly followed by the excitable activity of a dance group.

The people watching can't be beat. Passersby run and work out, some sit or lay with lovers and friends, some stroll in deep conversation (and some yell obnoxiously horrible untruths about Denver's general population and though I want to curse "them" and send them packing to their dream locale - Colorado Springs - I can appreciate said crazy to be just as much a part of this juicy scene). It all is so active and alive with only the type of energy and promise only a summer night can bring.

We sit and toy with our paints, creating blended color and revealing shape. I'm so glad Jody found some time to take photos while her masterpiece marinated.

Gina took Jody's sage advice and figured out impressionistic color.

Julie used her palette knife to create these beautiful strokes.

I played with my new watercolor set (who would have thought me + watercolors but I do like how mobile it can be).

Dessert follows a wonderfully fresh salad from Julie's garden and some cold pasta, which seemed suiting for the heat. Stories abound - some about work, some about family, some about pregnancy, some about long lost English professors (mmm).

Strawberry Shortcake

The Pièce de résistance in my garden this year is the strawberries I planted in the oversize metal bucket my mom gave me a few years back. It's the first time I've planted strawberries. I find them to be a light-hearted, colorful addition to the crew of veggies and herbs I have kicking around.

In any case, I've been watching them like a stalker and I think I missed my first chance at their fruit - not sure if it was the squirrels who beat me to it. Today though, I got up close and personal in a private photo shoot. They make me so happy to watch - their colors are beautiful and their dimply skin so plump. When I planted them I envisioned on hell of a Strawberry Shortcake, something to the likes of Alicia Paulson's beautiful work, but sadly I don't think the "crop" will provide enough. For now I will have to take it in slow growth and enjoy one bite at a time.