Yeah WAAYYY! Wayzgoose!

We hit the Wayzgoose festival at the School of Visual Concepts last Saturday. A 'wayzgoose' is a German festival held by printmakers for their apprentices. It was the perfect event to take my family to since my letterpress class finished-I wanted to show them more about this art form I've been obsessed with.

We got to tour the press studio at SVC, where anyone willing could make a print on one of their Vandercook presses. It was so great to watch Em cranking out a print!

Another highlight was the steamroller press, where local artists and design firms made linocuts, inked them up and "pressed" them under a steamroller. We bid on a couple of the posters, but unfortunately didn't win.

The girls seemed excited by the party atmosphere (people, music, Dante Dogs for sale) and I was just happy to have another chance to get letters, words and type under my skin. Doug was quiet, but effusive later in the day about how much he enjoyed the entire festival.

I feel all tangled up these days, as if there were a flurry of words, images, colors, all brambled inside of me and I need to get them out. I just need to find the end of the length of twine and give it a great, sharp, TUG.

My New Thing

My new thing for September is to detox.

Since I've seen my shiatsu practitioner, Mr. Mori, I've tried to maintain a "greens and grains" diet. He encourages me to chew a lot. To eat lots of seasonal vegetables. To eliminate sugar. When I'm mindful about doing this, I feel good. My stress is a little lower, my tight neck feels looser and my system is very regular. Like 2-3 times more regular than usual.

But summer came, thwarting all my intentions of being mindful. Or eating healthy. As far as average Americans go, Doug and I eat pretty well: Not a lot of meat, limited trips to fast food, caffeine and alcohol in moderation. But when the sun is shining in the afternoon, lingering into late evening, I really want a cocktail. I want barbecued meats. And brownies. I don't even want to get into the amount of time we've spent sampling ice cream from our favorite places in town: Molly Moon's, Bluebird, Parfait, Snacks and Peaks (frozen custard).

A huge wake-up call came last weekend at a party our good friends hosted where there were margaritas and Mexican food. Doug and I really enjoyed ourselves, but the Mexican food didn't sit too well with either of us and we each observed strange reactions in our bodies to the alcohol. Doug gets very very red (an Asian allergy thing), then very very cold, then very very pale and unhappy. I don't even get buzzed anymore. I go from loose and a little happy to a headache and upset stomach.

Then there's the coffee. When we arrived in Latte-land we did not drink coffee. It's only been in the last few years (prompted by the birth of our kids, probably) that we've become coffee drinkers. I love the smell. Especially when I'm sleepy and Doug is making the coffee, whisking warm milk into a froth. The taste of the heavy coffee buoyed by refined white sugar and milky bubbles is one of the ultimate expressions of Doug's affection for me--denying a cup would hurt his feelings, right? That's what I kept telling myself this summer. Even as I took over the coffee making for the two of us.

So, for the month of September (to start, I hope), we're quitting. Going to eliminate as much sugar as possible. Going to eat more greens and grains. Going easy on the dairy. Going to move more. Going off the sauce. Doug hasn't decided if he's off coffee yet. These last few days I've gone half-caf, half-decaf, using rice milk as my sweetener of choice.

A bonus of our September Detox is a trip to the Olympus Ladies Spa or Banya5. Every once in a while, everybody needs a good scrubbin'.

808 in the 206

I really like the Blue Scholars, a favorite Seattle hip-hop/rap group. Their new CD, "Oof!" dropped last Tuesday, and there were a flurry of smallish gigs around town to celebrate. Since I was already out at my last letterpress class Tuesday night, I stopped by 'Ohana, where the Scholars were having their CD release party. That's DJ Sabzi at the event. (Sorry, Geologic lovers-my pics were all obscured by the guy in front of me with a bright red knit cap)

Although I was tired, I figured if I could find parking and get in before 11, I'd do it. These events are the kinds of things I talk a lot about, yearn to attend, then wimp out at the last minute due to laziness or lack of courage because I'd have to get child care or go alone. But the parking turned out to be a cinch and the wait was about 15 minutes, so there I was, hanging out with people about 10 years younger than me, squashed in the doorway of the restaurant.

It felt good to do something different-and not just 'different' because I didn't have kids with me. It felt good to have a change of scenery, listen to some good music, and feel out some new boundaries.

Orcas retreat

We spent a lovely weekend with friends at their home on Orcas Island. It's a tradition of sorts, where our families share a weekend together (usually) over the fourth of July. Our pals, Randy and Joseph Dixon and Deborah Haensli, have invited us up since our kids were about two years old.

We chartered a boat, which enabled us to see a different perspective of the islands and Puget Sound. The kids loved whipping across the water, observing aquatic life and exploring a smaller nearby island where we took a break. For the first 15 minutes or so Phoebe stood on my lap, wind in her hair shouting, "I'm on a boat! I'm on a boat!!" So hysterically-T-pain-funny.

We stopped at Sucia Island, which is a state park. It was great to stretch our sea legs to relax on terra firma. We were delighted to find some fossilized rocks during our shoreside explorations. Someone had built a labyrinth our of rocks and there was a heron stepping softly through the water, fishing for lunch. What an amazing change of pace, a lovely way to spend time with friends.

Thanks to the Dixon/Haensli family for such a fun mini-break! We look forward to spending more time with you on this side of the Sound.

Post Banya

Our fresh, glowing faces after some quality time at Banya 5.

Hit It

So the girls went to Banya 5, a Russian bathhouse in town. A bit hesitant at the beginning, we soon gave in to water-water everywhere and even worked the platka. 

I've been curious about this spa for a while, mainly because they advertise use of the "platka," or a branch of Russian White Oak with leaves still attached that can be struck against the skin. This is supposed to increase circulation and disperse tension. 

I am intrigued by this notion. First of all, there's the spiritual aspect of using an aromatic leaf to bring scent and energy into the air around you. Keeping your skin taut and your blood pumping seems like a wonderfully healthful thing to do. But mainly I just fantasize about whacking the heck out of Doug with a big branch. A side of catharsis with your aromatic blood flow? Yes, please!

In the bathing area there are a few other pools: a hot water whirlpool, a warm salt-water pool, then the cold water plunge. There's a Turkish steam room and a large shower area. Then there's the parilka. 

The parilka is, according to the website, a "Russian sauna oven generating 200+ degrees of penetrating radiant heat." It's where you go to get "platka'd."

We didn't really know the lay of the land going in, but we were game for the parilka, which was extremely hot. There was a very svelte, toned gentleman sitting in there. He answered a few of our questions, helping us learn that we should stay in the parilka then plunge into the cold water pool. We should do this a few times to open up the blood vessels and increase circulation. A part of me felt this would the wrong approach-that part of me that's afraid of shocking my heart into giving out. But another part of me was looking at this very toned, serene man, thinking, well, if he does it, it's gotta be good, right?

The cold water plunge is a shock. I wiggled in a bit, but soon realized it's better just to go for it. The experience is intense to say the least. I felt radiant in and under my skin. Maybe that's what it would feel like if your body was submerged in a vat of Icy Hot.

Toned Man, or after he introduced himself, Thomas, said he'd be leaving soon and did I want a demonstration? Sure-I was dying to try the platka, and what better way than to have someone who actually knew what they were doing?

After I laid down on a towel on my stomach, he took the wet platka and banged the ventilation cage above me. I immediately felt a warm shower of mist, pungent and woody around me. In a very methodic way he hit the platka against my arms and shoulders, moving in circles down my body. The branch is sort of flattened out like a fan, so what you feel is more the slap of leaves rather than branch or bark. It reminded me of watching someone fly-fishing. There's a rhythm, a cadence, and a circular motion to the line and I felt as if my back were the surface of a very still lake, with the platka moving air right above me just as the hook and line moves. It was very hot, but not uncomfortable. I tried to match my breathing to the strikes, to the movement of his arm above me. I felt very relaxed. After he moved down my legs, he placed the platka on the back of one of my thighs, then bent my leg, pressing the platka into it. The stretch didn't really hurt; it was more uncomfortable to have such heat on the back of my legs with added pressure. Breathe. He repeated it on the other side. Breathe again.

The ladies and I took turns working the platka on one another after that. We each got something from it, but found that various areas spoke us in different ways: Cynthia enjoyed the quiet tea room, Kelly liked the steam bath and Jenny and I loved bobbing in the salt water pool. 

Afterward, we felt revived and a little woozy. We would have liked to try the Venik Lounge next door for an infused vodka, but opted instead for a late dinner at Kushibar in Belltown. I really enjoyed spending some quality girl time with my friends in a new environment. We were already making plans to come back again-maybe with the guys in tow.

Okies R OK

My husband, Doug, spent many of his formative years living in Oklahoma. It pains me to hear the stories he has about being one of the few Asians at his high school or how out of place he felt in Tulsa. But I'm relieved to know that he had (and has) a great network of friends who, purely by coincidence, now live nearby in Seattle.

One couple who still lives in Tulsa - Mark and Kelly - were coming to visit, so we spent some time with the Okie gang recently. They came to our house for dinner one evening, where we caught up over an amazing paella Doug made while the kids (four boys plus my two girls) tore up the basement play area. On another evening the ladies went to Banya 5, a Russian bathhouse in town while the guys hit Zig Zag. It was great to reconnect with these friends. I ordinarily associate them with Doug's network, but I'm realizing that these are my friends, too, people I care for and enjoy having in my life. I can feel why they meant so much to Doug back in the day; and continue to mean so much to the both of us now.

Still chasin'

I had my penultimate letterpress class this week. I felt confident that I could print on the press and looked forward to having something in hand as I left that night.

However, given that even the most simple designs can become complicated, I spent the entire class wedging small pieces of paper and metal between the arrow heads of my type in order to "lock it up" in the chase for printing.

The -->-->-->-->--> pattern on my design was made with m-dashes and the letter 'v' on its side. Because the m-dash is a hair bigger than a 'v' on its side, I had to fill in that space so none of the type would rattle around or (horrific thought) fall out while in the press. It seemed manageable until it came time to lift up the chase and poke around at the letters. That's when my arrow heads would slide around.

My instructor suggested using tracing paper to fill in the gaps. So I cut tiny pieces of paper and fit them in with a tweezers, a task that took a ton of time and even more patience. Locked up the quoins (metal pieces with springs in them to apply even pressure to the type on two sides), and tested again. More wobbling. I did it all again. Wobble. The instructor tried. Wobble. We tried it with copy paper, cutting, tweezing out the other paper and tweezing in the new. Then tweezing in the metal pieces that fell out. Locked. Wobbled. Instructor tried. Locked. Wobbled.

Ugh.

It was so frustrating to spend the three hours in the studio just trying to squeeze metal letters together. When I left my neck was all tight and my head hurt. I can't go to open studio this Friday to try again because we're going out of town, so I have to wait until our last class to get this thing locked and loaded for printing. And I WILL. THOSE ARROW HEADS WILL BE MINE.-->-->-->-->

Pop!

The candy counter at Blackbird is a fun new find for us. While at the Ballard Farmers' Market last weekend Em got her first taste of Pop Rocks. I love this expression on her face as she feels them tickling her mouth.
Really, the kid is eight years old. What kind of parent have I been that it's only now that she's eaten Pop Rocks?!

Dinner date

After the film, we walked over to Spinasse to see if we could get in for dinner.

They squeezed us in at the bar, where I personally love to be in order to watch all the comings and goings of the kitchen. But what we saw in the kitchen seemed unusual to me: A calm atmosphere, with the chefs working next to one another, chatting or laughing together without any frantic scramble or even the clatter of a dish. It was mesmerizing to watch, really, like a stylized dance where spoons twirled blithely through the air and the pans tilted with the sole purpose of catching the overhead light under a flame. I honestly don't remember seeing such calm servers and chefs.
(Our server was also very calm and collected when a man at the other side of the bar asked if they had any strawberry shortcake for dinner. It's a beautiful Italian restaurant. The menu is mostly in Italian. We weren't at Seattle Center, here, people.)

They started us off with a crostini topped with pickled beet greens. Then, because we'd ordered the squab, which took some time, they brought us an amazing fettucine with beef and pork ragu to hold us over. My maltagliati pasta with vegetables was perfect. Refreshing, hearty, warming-I couldn't stop eating it. I also couldn't stop eating the ciogga beets and lentils from Doug's squab, either. Nor could I stop, despite my very full belly, from eating dessert: Mine: gianduja semifreddo (a lovely hazelnut gelato-like dessert accompanied by a chocolate/nut brittle) and Doug's: roasted peach with panzanella dolce (I'm pretty sure this had croutons. Croutons!).

We could not believe how wonderful our lives were throughout this dinner. Blessed and fed, happy and deeply in love with Spinasse, Seattle, life and each other, we left the restaurant bursting.

P.S. At the restaurant I had posted a tweet saying "So delicious," with a picture of our dessert. The restaurant also has someone tweeting because they ReTweeted my post! Thanks, @Spinasse!

Movie date

Doug and I got a babysitter to stay with the kids while we took in "Objectified," a documentary about the design of objects and our relationships with them. It was directed by Gary Hustwit, who made "Helvetica."
It was cool to check out the flick and to see it at Northwest Film Forum. Doug felt right at home listening to the folks at IDEO (who he worked with at the d.school during our time at Stanford) and I found it interesting comparing the attitudes of male vs. female designers. Design is about problem solving, troubleshooting, making something functional yet beautiful without being obviously functional and beautiful--there is a huge variety of perspectives. It's fascinating to discover those attitudes, to throw those ideas around with your life partner and figure out where each other's sensibilities lie. But all in all, I'm fascinated with design and designers because I want to, in some teeny tiny way, make cool stuff like they do. I'm not talking about designing the next iPhone or making a dramatically efficient and sexy car, but it would be satisfying to continue to be creative. To take something from thought nugget to gilded road. I'm working on it.
I just finished reading "Julie & Julia," which is now a film starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. I really got into it at first, felt like I could identify with the author, Julie Powell. I felt like my trials, my desire, even my voice was simliar to hers. As I read on, I can't say that feeling stuck with me, but I admire her courage to take that leap-of faith, of folly, whatever you want to call it. She took a path. Although it was difficult, she stuck to it. I find that admirable.

At the end of the book Powell talks about finding one's way in the world. Her "Julie/Julia" project helped her to find the joy it takes to do that. It takes some bravery to face the road you want to take and even more to stay on it. So this is my thought for now-for my business, for my family, for the life I live and how I choose to live it: Be Brave.

Ground cherries

Here are few pictures of a sumptuous discovery at the market: Ground cherries. I've never tasted these little lovelies before, but after seeing one gentleman at the market with a bag stuffed full of them, I thought I'd give them a go.

You pop the papery casing off and out comes a tiny little cherry-tomato-looking berry. They taste sweet and savory at the same time. Em, Phee and I were downing these babies at the market, walking around the U-District, in the car-by the time we got home there were just a couple of handfuls left. Yum!

Saturday scene

After our space exploration, we decided to hit the University District Farmers' Market in search of goat cheese to put in these lovely little squash blossoms that a friend gave us from her garden. As much as I enjoy farmers' markets, this one is a little tight for me-a cramped space in a bustling neighborhood with tons of people. Lucky for us, we made a couple of great discoveries from vendors that don't frequent our market in Ballard.

Spaced Out

Since our visit to 826 Valencia, we'd been meaning to check out our very own 826 writing center. Conveniently located across the street from my hairdresser (and really at 8414 Greenwood), we hit the "Greenwood Space Travel Supply Company" after my latest trim.

We entered to find a rocket over our heads and dehydrated astronaut food on display. The space is smaller and a little more low-budget than 826 Valencia, but there are still fun toys to purchase, as well as McSweeney's and other Dave Eggers-edited fare.

Em enjoyed playing with a smoke-ring gun and a nerf-rocket launcher. Phee wrote in the "stardate log," nearly toppling over the table on which it was standing. At that point, it was time to leave. The new schedule of workshops and tutoring will be available next month. It will be great to get Emma involved there, working on her writing skills as a (gasp) 3rd grader.

Vive La France

By complete happenstance, the family and I had a full evening in our 'hood.

The girls and I were pretty exhausted today, staying home, taking it easy. I wanted to feel like we did something, however small, so after Phoebe's afternoon nap I got the girls into the van and schlepped them to the library. Doug met up with us and we hit Epilogue. (I am one of these people who goes to the library and various discount stores in search of my next book for book club knowing full well that it is unlikely to be there. I should really just jump on Amazon or put a reserve on the book as soon as I know what it will be, but of course, that would be far too easy)

The shelves were pretty picked over at Epilogue, but it felt great to be able to tell Emma that she could choose as many books as she wanted and not worry too much about the total. After we cashed out, we picked up our dry cleaning a few doors down and thought it'd be fun to grab a soft serve at Snacks!

But it was getting close to dinner time and we'd been anxious to try Bastille, so hey, why don't we just walk by and see if it's crowded? It wasn't. So there we were, on a Friday evening, out and about when ordinarily we'd probably be re-heating the bulgogi, tofu and rice that Doug's parents brought us earlier in the week. It was a lovely, unexpected surprise.

We've watched Bastille take shape for some months now, anticipating its opening each week as we walk by the construction while at the Farmers' Market. It doesn't disappoint. The black painted ironwork and white subway tiles set the tone of the Metro, accented by the faux-gas lamp fixtures and numbered pop-out lights on the pillars. The light fixtures from the ceiling have intricate motifs in a surprising cranberry color and the menu du jour was written in white dry erase marker on a few of the mirrors. And don't get me started on the clocks. Those super-cool illuminated clocks! The detailed interiors are spot-on.

Then the bread comes.

Accompanied by a ramekin of butter topped with sea salt, the bread, made by Grand Central Baking Company, was crazy delicious. Crusty but not tough on the outside, doughy yet airy on the inside and just unbelievably savory with that salted butter--I was in love.

But I was also a little irritated. I mean, how simple is that? To throw some salt on top of a huge block of butter. Of course that's going to be a hit! And why the heck don't we do that at home? Well, we are now, folks, that's for sure.

We decided to share a few small plates: Moules Frites, Grilled Octopus, Summer Pole Beans and Soup a L'Oignon. Em had the Mac 'n Cheese. Everything tasted fantastic. There weren't any of those, "Well, these mussels would be better if the sauce were a little thicker," or "The soup is too cheesy, not enough onion." The food was exactly like the interior-every element contributing to the whole dish without anything overpowering or overbearing, yet nothing lacking, either. So delicious.

If anything, the whole picture seemed a little too...uh, dare I say it? The whole picture seemed a little too beautiful for Ballard. I'm grateful to have a lovely place in which to eat lovely food. But looking around the restaurant, there seemed to be more people I'd see at Bellevue Square than the Ballard Locks. As a Ballard resident, I suppose all of this is only good for me. It really was a wonderful way to end the week with my family.

Because Phee decided to eat her dinner and then climb into the booth behind us, then shriek when one of us tried to hold her down, we thought it best to walk down to Snacks! for our dessert. I guess for me, that's the flavor of Ballard: Sitting in a parking lot behind a bar, eating a soft served ice cream cone.

Moules Lover

Pictures of Doug. 1) With the moules, or mussels, 2) Making his Julia Child 'savoring-the-food-face.'

"Bluebirds in the bluebells..."

If you know the rest of the lyrics to that song, you're an even bigger musical geek than me.

It's the song I thought of while we ate ice cream there this evening. Bluebird is the latest homemade ice cream shop to open its doors in Seattle. More specifically, they are located in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, on Pike Street between 12th and 13th.

Our nearest ice cream shop is The Scoop@Walter's (32nd at 65th in Ballard). But this evening, when Phoebe came out of the kitchen pretending to slurp up "iiiiiiiizzzz kkkkeeemm" from a spoon, I was really hoping for a change of scenery. Since it was a rare evening when we were done with dinner before 7:30, we thought we'd load the kids up in the van and head to the other side of I-5.

Doug got the blueberry sorbet (beautifully violet, but too icy and crumbly to be tasty), Em got the snickerdoodle (perfect for a kid-sweet and cinammon-y good), Phee got vanilla bean (solidly 'good') and I got chocolate pudding (so creamy chocolatey that I wanted Bill Cosby to be sitting next to me with that pudding grin he's so good at). The flavors were fair, but I wouldn't say outstanding. Creamier texture than our usual favorite, Molly Moon's, but not nearly as hard-hitting on the subtleties the way MM's is. Good 'scream, but perhaps not enough to tempt us out on another rainy evening.

A side note: It must have been ArtWalk on Capitol Hill tonight because people wandered around, music blared and open containers were common. Upstairs in the Bluebird is a small shop, Snowmonkey's House of Monsters. They had a fun array of goofy stuffers, stationary and art. They also had this cool glass orb dispenser with multiple spigots. A glass with a silver spoon/sifter on top was under each spigot. On top of the sifter thing was a sugar cube. As the liquid dripped out of the spigot, it dissolved the sugar cube and filtered into the glass. Emma was quite taken with the spectacle of this magical orb, as was I. The glass orb fit in with the theme of the multiple-headed monster artwork, too. What was even cooler was the liquid coming out: Absinthe. I've never had Absinthe, but was more tempted to drink the concoction because of its elaborate preparation display than any promise of befuddlement. The hosts tonight were so gracious, offering the drink for free, or if you were willing, a small donation. I was tempted, but decided it might be better to keep on the straight edge while taking my kiddos out for "iiiiiiiizzzz kkkkeeemm."

p.s. The song is "Wonderful Wonderful Day" from "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers."

You can find a sample of the song here, but be sure to click on "Spring Spring Spring" because although I fully respect the good people at Rhino Records, their links are reversed for these two songs.

Au Revoir, Epilogue

Our absolute favorite new/used bookstore in Ballard is closing.

It began with a bit of buzz, as these things tend to do. I was there earlier in the summer, browsing the stacks while one of the clerks sorted through my box of possible re-sells when a woman who came in asked the clerks about the 'For Lease' sign out front. I didn't hear their conversation. I don't think I wanted to hear it. NW Market Street, the main hub of Ballard's "downtown," has seen vacant storefronts for some time. Living here since 1998, we've seen the neighborhood evolve a lot. We shopped at the Ballard Farmers' Market when it was only a few canopies in the Bank of America parking lot (now home to the new library). We've watched the lutefisk make way for the global exchange coffee. We've slowed behind the cars driven by blue-haired old ladies in Oldsmobiles while watching the jagged-hair hipsters in hybrids pass us. We've questioned gentrification while at the same time appreciating it--realizing that we, too, are more at the core of what Ballard is becoming rather than what it was.

So I didn't eavesdrop on their conversation because a large part of me didn't want to see another local store slip away. I couldn't avoid it a couple of weeks later when their closing sign went up. It isn't easy to watch their prices drop as they get rid of inventory. Nor is it easy to see that they are selling a lot of their fixtures. Being avid readers ourselves, we're always on the hunt for bookshelves, so I felt like a vulture when I inquired about buying some of them. The owner, Nathan, was so sweet when he replied, "Don't feel like a vulture--you're helping us." That made me feel worse.

Doug got this e-mail notice: Epilogue will be open three more days.

The people at Epilogue are fantastic. They helped nurture my love of books, were great to my kids and always let me have the bathroom key. I want to thank them and wish them the best of luck for the future.

A Day's Work

My schedule during these last days of summer is dependent upon my kids. As many parents know, school-free days mean feeding, entertaining and obliging the whims of our wee ones. Whether that means play dates, movies, parks, libraries, paddling pools, whatever. My days are dictated by my girls' schedules.

This is fine with me. Ordinarily a task-oriented person, I've come to accept scratching one or two items off rather than tackling my entire list of To-Do's for the day. I like to think it helps me achieve some sort of balance. It also gives me a bit of an excuse in getting my business launched.

I don't have any grand plans for making millions from scanning photos or hiring underlings to do the dirty work while I scheme a way to rake it in. I would just like to keep busy, stay sharp and maybe learn some new skills. If I earn a few bucks in the process, great. If I can sustain a small home business while still being available to my family, even better.

But the truth is that I'm scared of putting myself out there. It wouldn't take any time at all to put an ad up on craigslist, get something going and work out the kinks along the way (which I'll probably do to some extent), but it's scary. As I mentioned above, my routine is dictated by the needs of my children. There is some safety in that. As I stall while perfecting my letterpress business cards, calculating price points and working toward a scanning rhythm, I'm easing into the idea of coming out of that cocoon.

For some time I've been working on possible logos for Studio 110. The picture above shows small icons, which I might use on stationary or stickers.

It's a Beet

Yeah, I know it looks like a radish, but it's actually a beet. I have a poem called, "Beetmilk," that I wanted to print with the stamp. I have a thing about beets. They're red. They're delicious. I can boil the heck out of them and that's all I have to do to cook them. I just love beets.

Additional note: My good friend Suesan accidentally broke the beet. I was showing it to her, along with the prints that I'd made, and while she mimicked how I inked it up and stamped it, the center ripped apart. She was so upset I didn't have the heart to be mad. At least now I can ink up the beet and the greens separately without worrying about the color running. And now I know something about the structural integrity of those EZ cut blocks.

You Beetcha

Similar to my desire to learn letterpress, for some time I've wanted to experiment with woodblock printing. When it came time to send out invitations for Phoebe's first birthday, I wanted to make a woodblock print of a boar, which is her Chinese Zodiac sign. But since I don't know how to make woodblock prints (and I have extremely bad luck with sharp tools in the kitchen), I opted for a potato stamp. Hey, I taught pre-school--potato stamps are a staple.

Among the art and design blogs I follow, I came across a tutorial for making hand-carved stamps. This was probably over a year ago. The tutorial video is extremely helpful, along with her other carving information. (The artist, Geninne, has an amazing art blog and esty shop. I am inspired by her birds!) Fueled by a 25% off coupon at PaperZone, I gave in and finally purchased the cutting blocks, linoleum cutter and some lovely paper I wanted to stamp and letterpress print on.

With my laptop in front of me, I played the tutorial video while working on first the drawing, then the transferring, carving, and finally the cutting of my stamp design. I felt like I was in high school trying to memorize lyrics to a favorite song, playing, pausing and rewinding the song until I had written down all the lyrics. Doug and I had a deep discussion about whether or not I wanted a negative or positive impression, which led me to rethink the design entirely for about 15 minutes. Throughout my nervousness, I simply tried to focus on the task at hand, to keep it simple.

I guess that worked because to my amazed glee, my stamp came out looking just like Geninne's! Thrilled, I threw up my hands with a breathy, "I DID IT!!" (Excitedly, but not loud enough to wake the kids) I tried not to get carried away until I actually made an impression. Copying Geninne's "pat pat" of the ink pad on top of the stamp, I cautiously placed it on my paper. When I lifted it off, I felt even higher than the moment before. It was exactly as I wanted it to look. A huge sense of accomplishment filled the tingling tips of my fingers.

Doug watched as I took the stamp off the page, grinned and giggled a little when our eyes met. "It's perfect!" I gushed.

He nodded. "Oh, honey, it sure is."

I felt my smile turn inside out. I laughed and gushed and then I cried.

I've never considered myself an artist. I barely consider myself a poet. But with all the transition happening in my life during the last few years, I confess the words have not come. It's been some time since I really wrote anything I felt was significant. So it felt amazing to make something. To imagine and dream something, then take it from the cosmos into the real world. Even if it's just a stamp.

Scan u

The business that I'm starting up is pretty simple. It's a basic customer service gig, helping people digitize their print photographs. As I found earlier this year while preparing for a 70th birthday party for my mom, I have hundreds of print photos that I'd like, for whatever reason, to get into my computer. For the party, I scanned in about 150 photos to put into a slideshow to share. I didn't use them all, but it was nice to get those memories into a format easy to e-mail or burn onto a CD or DVD. After hearing about other friends preparing similar projects for wedding receptions, anniversary parties and the like, I thought this might be a great way to keep busy while still be home with my kids. I also like the idea of caring for one's memories in a different way. If I can become more proficient at color correction or photo restoration, that would be icing. But for now, helping people--perhaps people older than myself who aren't willing to sit down with their scanner for hours at a time or aren't technologically savvy--gather photos or slides that are meaningful to them so they can e-mail them to friends instead of e-mails featuring "blessed friend wishes," senior citizen sexual behavior or why cats are better companions than men.

My first project is for myself--scanning in photos from my wedding. Hopefully my kids won't have to adapt these jpgs to some other kind of technology for the my 70th birthday party slideshow.

Just My Type

Last night at Letterpress class I was a bit nervous, as we were discussing (as a group) what projects we'd like to work on. On my list I had the following: Business cards (supported by the fact that the studio had a selection of business cards on hand we could use), poetry broadsheets or a couplet or excerpt of a poem. I had sketched out some possibilities for the business cards, with what I thought would be an easy enough logo/design element/doo-dad to incorporate with very simple, basic type. I'm not picky-I just want my name and contact info on a card so people will know how to contact me.

Other folks had come with sketches and ideas. Lisa and our aide for the evening, Mary Alice, were full of suggestions for how to flesh them out. After Lisa showed us how to mix ink, she set us to work. We were in a bit of a flurry, most of us not knowing exactly where to begin, but all of us eager to start. My business cards were simple, however, as far as spacing out my logo/design/doo-dad, it was a bit more complicated.

I chose an arrow motif, like this: -->-->-->-->
The '>' is supposed to be an arrowhead, but there was no arrowhead type in the studio. But, being flexible, I figured the 'greater than' symbol could be realized by placing the letter 'v' on its side. The lines I could do with the rule (type that has a line or variety of lines, straight, doubled, wavy, etc.).

But first I couldn't find three of the same types of rule. Or the same length. Given that I was making business cards, I needed the rule to be short so as not to dominate the card. Or my name. And if I managed to find even lengths and widths of rule, I'd have to add spacers below and above the sideways 'v' in order to have it centered with the rule. So naturally, my seemingly simple design turned out to be somewhat complicated.

I worked on this in a concentrated manner for the remainder of class. Setting the letters, the spacing, the rule on the composing stick. It was while I finally got to the name of my business that I hit another unforeseen hiccup: Sub type. My business is called STUDIO 110, with the '110' just under the line of 'STUDIO,' or as sub type. In order to make this happen in hand-set type, I had to arrange the lines and spacing accordingly. Manually.

I troubleshooted by putting a thinner slug between 'STUDIO' and the next line and using a smaller font for the '110.' Then I had to fill up the space around it. Much of the time you take with setting type by hand is making sure the type won't fall out. Type falling out can result in damage to the press, the type, your project and your emotional core. I learned this last night.

All in all, I must have had three lines of actual type in my composing stick. Nothing too deep and meaningful; just my first and last names, STUDIO 110 and the arrows. I wanted to at least get a proof of what I'd set to see if I liked the font well enough to keep it and to have some evidence that all my hard work amounted to something tangible. Mary Alice helped me get my stick on the proof printer and run a few samples using carbon paper and tracing paper. I was thrilled, but noticed the clock ticking. Our class finishes at 10 p.m. and we need to be out of the studio. A few students had already left and many had placed their type on the galleys (metal trays where you can keep your type until you're done with it), labeling them and storing them away for the week. Hastily, I tidied up my area and went to move my type to the galley. I pressed in on the edges, hoping I was squeezing hard enough so my slivers of copper and paper spacing wouldn't fall out...and woosh! There went half of my words, my spacers, splayed out on the galley. I was disappointed. I figured something could fall out and after my two hours of painstakingly setting the type and spacers, I'd hoped that nothing would. Given that Lisa and Mary Alice were waiting for my slow self to store away my fallen type so they could get home, I didn't have time to cry over it. I wrapped up what little type I had intact, threw the rest beside it on the galley and hit it for home, still obsessing over how I was going to solve my type problem.

Luckily, we have access to the studio each day and the following day I would be without wee ones. After dropping them at their respective day-fun centers, I drove directly to the studio. No one else was there and I could take my time, talk to myself, growl when it didn't work the way I wanted and do a little happy dance when it did.

And guess what? It did! I started from scratch, found a new font, got my arrow logo/design/doo-dad to work, set it all tightly and did a couple of proofs. All with time to spare for meeting a girlfriend for lunch. I did it! I won the skill game!

Smoosh It, Baby

I've been following Brooke Burke on Twitter. I remember her from "Wild On" on E! more than from "Dancing with the Stars." I've always liked her because, duh, she has dark hair and brown eyes and she's pretty and famous. One day we can talk about all the dark haired, dark eyed, pretty, famous women around and I bet I will know every one you can think of because as I was growing up there were so few of them, I kept track. But as I flip my dark hair and blink my dark eyes, I digress.

Burke is now CEO of a site geared toward mothers called ModernMom. There are recipes, articles and other mommy-centered ephemera, but it is also home to Burke's blog and links in to her product site. On it, she sells a Tauts Belly Wrap.

(Stay with me)

It's basically a compression garment worn around the waist to help the stomach and uterine muscles contract. I would have pooh-poohed the idea entirely (and did so when it was first recommended to me), but after some consideration...I reconsidered.

After the birth of my first daughter, Emma, I went to a mom and baby exercise class sponsored by a hospital in my neighborhood. In addition to helping us perform exercises with our infants in tow, the physical therapist who taught it also checked us every week to see if the muscles in our stomachs had fused back together. Certain breathing techniques and exercises were directed at fusing these stomach muscles, but sometimes they don't grow back together, causing "diastasis recti." In my case, the physical therapist suggested I get a support band to wear for a couple of weeks to coax the muscles back together.

I resisted. I mean, if I hadn't gone to the class, how would I even know I had this "recti" thing, anyway? I was sure there were women all over the world with their rectis diastasis-ing and weren't worse off for it at all. I asked a few of my girlfriends about it - they hadn't heard of it, either. But after a couple more weeks I couldn't bear to hear her ask me about it anymore and I broke down to buy the $25 band. At the end of the class my muscles had come together somewhat, but not entirely, and I figured that since I'd always been active before my daughter (jazz, ballet, ballroom dancing; recreational sports, yoga) , I would continue to be, allowing my body to grow stronger and I'd never have to worry about my stomach muscles. Although I continued to be physically active, my core was never as strong as it had been and my endurance wasn't as consistent. I didn't worry about it much until baby #2.

My body bounced back much quicker with my second daughter, Phoebe. I was chasing after a seven-year-old, moving back into our home from a sabbatical year in another state and nurturing this new little being. My husband started a new job while I adjusted to being an at-home mom. The transitions were difficult physically and emotionally for everyone in my family, so that probably allowed me less time to reflect on my own health. As we evened out, I went back to yoga and running, but I admit that I did from time to time, check to see if my stomach muscles fused back together.

As of today, 22 months after giving birth, they have not fused. I decided to give the compression wrap another try. I couldn't bring myself to buy the Taut wrap Burke is selling, but I did get something similar to the one I wore previously. Burke suggests that Tauts be worn for 40 days and 40 nights, claiming she's done this as well. A tough task, but by the looks of her body, I'd believe any regimen she's following.

Today is my first day with the compression band. Other than some itching, it's been pretty comfortable. I have no idea if my band is as "taut" as the Taut, or will even yield results. But I'm hoping to restore some core strength and maybe lose an inch or two while I'm at it. I'll keep you posted about my progress, for better or worse.