Notes From the Green Room

Getting the Feet Wet

2011-04-29T10:37:00.000-07:00

With a five mile training run ahead of me, I decided to run around Greenlake (about 3 miles) with my new shoes. My numb toes after our nine mile run sent me back to Fleet Feet for a consultation. They suggested I try the same shoe, but in a wide. For lovely ladies, this isn't exactly what one wants to hear. But for a gal attempting to toughen up for a half marathon, I was more than willing to try. But I also wanted to try my FiveFinger shoes on the grass. At Greenlake I could take the paved trail with the wider shoes (the half marathon is mostly paved, so I wanted to mimic those conditions) for a few miles, then change into the FiveFingers to run in the grass or trail on the outer perimeter.

The wide shoes were great. I augmented with something called "Jelly Toes," a gel filled sleeve for the toes many dancers use. It was just a short distance compared to what I'd need to do on race day, but it seems like I'd found the right formula. And by formula, here's what I had added to my body: Jelly Toe on my second toe, the wider shoes, calf compression sleeves, a knee support and a support belt for my lower back. That doesn't count the SmartWool socks, wicking sunshield cap, iPod Shuffle and running tights, sports bra, tank top, two shirts and windbreaker. As my husband will tell you, I do not travel light.

As for the FiveFingers, once I put them on and tromped off into the grass, I felt like a kid. The grass was still wet and muddy in places, but I found running in it a joy. I may have started off the paved path, but the shoes kept me scampering up hills, winding around the trees and smooshing farther along than I anticipated. It felt liberating to be able to run through the muddy, wet grass unconcerned about getting dirty yet still feeling that my feet were protected. The FiveFingers are machine-washable, not something you can do with just any running shoe.

I preferred staying in the grass or on the trail with the FiveFingers rather than running on the pavement. That's probably where I need to be to strengthen my feet. It's still too soon to tell if they're making any difference, but they sure are fun and comfortable to wear in the meantime. I'm considering getting them for the girls for summer scampering.

To The 9s

2011-04-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

I was pretty psyched about my long run, despite the nine mile distance. Most of the route followed Lake Washington, which would be breathtaking on the clear sunny day we got. I've also been reading Dean Karnazes, who I think is one of the most inspirational athletes to follow today. I zoomed right through "Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner," and am now half-way through "50/50: Secrets I Learned Running 50 Marathons in 50 Days -- and How You Too Can Achieve Super Endurance!" I've also been keeping tabs on his Run Across America, marveling at the way he's zipped across the continental U.S. The guy doesn't sugar coat the toll running takes on his body and he's equally forthcoming about the immense joy he feels engaging in his sport. I shared so much of the book with Doug that he grabbed the first one as soon as I finished it and seems very inspired in his training for STP.

So with the ultimate ultramarathon man in my brain and my new CEP sleeves on my calves, I felt ready to take on the nine miles. And in retrospect, I fulfilled my goals. I wanted to finish without taking too long (under two hours) and I wanted to enjoy it -- that happened. But I can't help but think about a pivotal point when I chose to stop and stretch. I'd been doing well, enjoying the run and feeling pretty good. I wasn't the fastest and I wasn't the slowest. But I got a little lost.

We were supposed to take a set of stairs to the I-90 bridge bike tunnel. I was taking a set of stairs that led to someone's house when I finally saw someone from my training group continuing further down the street. I doubled back to meet them and caught my stride again. But when we had to walk up a hill to get to the stairs, my left toes were going numb and I figured I should take a breather, walk a bit and help them unwind.

It was hard to watch my training partners go on ahead, but I tried to remember that I was taking care of myself and it would be better in the end. I began to get discouraged by how far I'd fallen behind and my foot didn't feel any better. I kept waiting to see the next turnoff street, but there were so many street and none of them the one I needed! It was frustrating. I didn't stop again, but I was shuffling along pretty slowly, my toes numb and mentally unraveling.

By the time I got to the turn, I was relieved, but understood that this final leg back to our meeting point was always the hardest. Why? Because it was always the last leg! There's a slight uphill grade and I'm just dog tired at that point. There are also a number of great restaurants and cafes along that street and they're just opening up their doors where the smell of pastries and coffee are so enticing. But I finished, and within two hours, which felt good.

However, I'm coming off that run with a new goal. Our run this weekend is a mock marathon where our trainers will have us run part of the half-marathon course with bib numbers, aid stations and an official start. I think it's a great way to mentally prepare for what's ahead on the actual race day. It will be half of the Half, 6.2 miles. And since I know I can do this, my main goal is to keep running. I'm going to stay the course with my fellow runners who challenge and encourage me without stopping to stretch out my foot. Let's do it!

Compression and Five Fingered Toes

2011-04-28T13:09:00.000-07:00

In an effort to alleviate my numb toes syndrome while running, I hit the Capitol Hill Fleet Feet store, which is where I've been training for the Rock 'n Roll Seattle Half Marathon. The staff is extremely friendly and helpful, so I knew I could get some good advice.

After talking with Phil about the benefits of compression tights, I decided to work up to them by trying a compression sleeve for my calves first. I'd read that supporting the calf muscles can help alleviate pressure on the foot. As a former dancer, I do appreciate the idea of being sucked in and supported as much as possible to keep the muscles warm. (Here's where I confess that for the first two training runs I wore a unitard under my running clothes. It helped keep me warm and supported, but since it had no wicking properties whatsoever, I was wet and cold by the time I got home).

Phil mentioned that there are a few different approaches to the compression garment: CEP, which makes the calf sleeve, incorporates stitching that allows support and blood flow up the leg. The recovery compression tights I was looking at (sorry, I forgot the brand) provides complete compression around the legs for total support. There's an important point here that I almost missed as a novice runner - the recovery tights are to be worn after running. You can wear them after a long run, race, or even to sleep. At about $140 a pair, I thought the calf sleeves would be a better foray into compression garments. There are compression tights available that can be worn while running, but again, that might be a little further down the road for me.

Sort of on my radar, but not necessarily on my shopping list, were the Vibram FiveFingers shoes. I've seen FiveFinger runners and heard about the barefoot running movement, but I didn't understand it. Fleet Feet had a discount for Facebook followers (which I am, natch), so I thought I'd try on a pair. The shoes aren't as strange as one might think - or perhaps because I'm used to going barefoot I'm comfortable spreading my out my toes - but because they're meant to be a snug fit, they feel flexible and supportive at the same time. Another employee, Emily, mentioned that she uses her pair for shorter runs on non-paved surfaces. She said they encourage striking on the ball or front of the foot. I'd been wondering how I could strengthen my foot and this sounded like a great way to augment my training. When I was dancing we spent a lot of time working on the feet at the barre and across the floor. It made so much more sense to me to use the FiveFingers this way versus as a primary running shoe. I felt like I finally understood how I could utilize the shoe.

I'm pretty excited about my purchases. The FiveFingers were fun to run in around the yard with the kids. We'll see how the sleeves do!

Testing out my FiveFingers in the grass.

Cool traction action.

Beaches

2011-04-26T16:17:00.000-07:00

The family and I recently spent a weekend at Cama Beach, a state park on Camano Island. We rented one of their quaint cabins on the Puget Sound, a tiny two-room respite just perfect for a short getaway. It's a picturesque spot, made more peaceful by the fact that outside cars are not allowed on the cabin grounds. You park on the hill overlooking the water, then walk or take a shuttle down. With two kids and questionable weather, we certainly packed a good deal, but it was well worth the effort, given the tranquil escape.

Our cabin had two full beds (you bring your own bedding), a table and chairs, a fridge, sink and microwave. The kids loved sharing a room together and having the beach right outside the front door. Although the restrooms are housed in a public facility, they were clean and not too far from our cabin.

The rain and cold found their way into the cabin, despite having a heater. I was so cold the first night that I caved in on our 'State-Made' proposal. It's embarrassing, but I could not stop myself from buying a fleece vest at the park store with a clear "Made in Vietnam" label. After spending the night huddled very close to Doug wearing almost every layer available in my overnight bag, I just couldn't take it. I look at it as a benefit to the Washington State Park system.

Because it's a state park, you can head over for an easy day trip. There's a Center for Wooden Boats on site, which offers boat rentals and family programs. The girls got to make small wooden boats that they "docked" at the beach. We invited some friends and family to join us later in the afternoon, which made for a crowded cabin, but happy, scampering kids. One of the best parts of living in the Pacific Northwest is the balance between urban living and the natural world. We loved being at Cama Beach and will definitely be there again before the summer's out.

Em finds the right cove for her boat.

Em & Phee take in the sunset.

Phee adds to Doug's Andy Goldsworthy-inspired shell installation.

Distr., Manufactured and Available

2011-04-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

Carting around what's probably not made in the U.S.

Our quest to purchase goods made only in the United States was challenged when we went grocery shopping. We do most of our produce shopping at our local farmer's market, so we were able to float by for a bit.

I'm not an overzealous label reader in general, but I guarantee you, I checked and double checked every item in our cart. It was easier than I imagined, since most of the items I needed were paper goods, and yeah, it seemed intuitive living in the Pacific Northwest that facial tissue, napkins and paper towels would be resources I wouldn't have trouble sourcing locally. But I was pleasantly surprised that rice milk, soy-gurt, throat-coat tea and grass seed (?!) were all distributed from companies here. The unpleasant part came when I saw the number of times the words "manufactured," "distributed by" and "manufactured for distribution by" appeared. I felt giddy to know that Genisoy is based in Tulsa, Okla. (my hubby's former stomping grounds), but left the store feeling unsteady and unsure that the products, though at the very least probably not sourced from U.S.-grown soybeans, was probably not made in Tulsa, either. It's frustrating.

When I got home I compared my cart's labels with one in my pantry: Nutella The first time I tried Nutella was while traveling overseas, and I was thrilled when I found it in a specialty grocery store a few years after. I was very certain it was not made in the U.S. My jar of Nutella says clearly, "Made in Canada" on the label. Not once during my shopping trip did I see a label as clear as that stating, "Made in the U.S.A." I feel that, despite some effort, I've failed.

There are many resources for products made here, especially online. Here are a few I found:

- Still Made in USA
- Americans Working
- Made in USA Forever

But it's going to take me a long time to sort through these sites to figure it out. Food seems relatively easy, though it might be more about changing what we eat. If I go back to the rice milk or soy products I enjoy more than dairy, that's automatically more difficult to obtain locally. Our farmer's market has no end to milk and cheese - unpasteurized milk at that. But soy products? I'll see where my research takes me and keep you all posted. If only there were and etsy-style grocery store.

Another issue that came up this week is my dying cell phone. I have an original iPhone 2, which has been fine for me, given that I use few of the online/app bells and whistles. I figure if the phone part of it still works, then I'm using a phone as a phone. I also text. But this week I could only hear calls if I had the speaker option on. I've been working around it, and maybe even found a solution, but that's another mystery to deal with. It will take much more than research to find a cell phone made entirely in the United States.

6 Mile

2011-04-13T11:26:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to run five miles for training yesterday and ended up running a little over six instead. (No, this isn't because I inadvertently did NOT run seven miles on Saturday)

I planned to do the outer perimeter of Greenlake, then jump to the paved path around the lake, but I just didn't. I've discovered after my second mile my left foot becomes numb. About 3/4 of a mile later, the right foot follows. A few friends at training group and I have commiserated about this, looking for solutions. I've laced my shoes tighter, looser, and even wore those socks with individual toes to help. The socks did help somewhat, but not entirely.

So after the first loop around the lake I decided to run the outer perimeter half-way to Super Jock 'n Jill, a running store at the northwest end of the lake. A super nice employee there, Eric, helped me. I thought wearing compression socks might help support my feet, but when I asked him what he thought, he suggested we fiddle with my shoe fit a bit more before shelling out the $60 for the CEP socks they carry. He re-laced my shoes. Not just pulling and re-adjusting, but he took the laces out entirely, skipped the first row of holes and re-laced them. Very very nice, considering I didn't even buy the shoes there. He had me take a jog up the hill and come back to check on how they felt. They felt much more roomy and comfortable, and encouraged, I thought finishing out the perimeter would be fun.

I did finish the perimeter feeling good. But my foot did get numb again. This time I had more room to wiggle my toes and scrunch them around, so that was a plus, but I really can't figure out how to avoid numbness entirely.

Maybe I can't. Maybe I just need to accept the my body is telling me to stop, stretch, take a breather and let me feet regain feeling. After I do this, my feet feel fine and are ready start again. I'm going to have to figure out how I can run this half-marathon in this condition. Running on numb feet is no fun, so perhaps I will be hitting the pavement in two-mile increments with stretching and walking in between.

How Do You Say 'Bummer' in Swedish?

2011-04-13T11:12:00.000-07:00

Our first week into "Operation State-Made" doesn't look too promising when I read stories like this one about IKEA's U.S. factory.

An Indecent Proposal

2011-04-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

Here's what's brewing in our kitchen this morning:

We are considering living on American made products for an entire year. As I'm typing this, my husband points out we should be living on products "Made in the the United States" instead.
"What's the difference?" I ask.
"'American' could mean Mexico and Canada. 'Made in the US' means just the United States," he pauses to examine the chocolate chip package from which he and our daughters are taking chips out to make our Sunday morning pancakes. "Although some people may not agree with that."
"Okay, let's decide then," I say.
"Made in USA." He declares.

This causes our oldest daughter to ask, "Does this include holidays like Christmas and Easter?" (We have just come from Target, where she ran a little reconnaissance on the Monster High dolls available.)

Doug and I then have a conversation about the level of what I will call "State-Madeness" we're comfortable with. Because we may be looking at a product made here in the US, but perhaps the source material comes from another country. For example, while we're talking about this, he and the girls are making our favorite Sunday morning breakfast: Chocolate chip pancakes. They're making them from scratch, in our kitchen in Washington state. Made in the USA, right? But when we look at the packaging for the ingredients, we aren't entirely sure the chocolate chips, baking powder, flour and salt are made here. The eggs, yes, because we buy them at our local Farmer's Market. A glance at the Nestle Toll House package of chocolate chips doesn't show much. They're distributed by Nestle Baking in Solon, Ohio. Since they're a Swiss company, we're betting they aren't made here.

A quick look at the Hershey website revealed a list of their products still made in Hershey. Great! But where do they source the chocolate from? One of our favorite chocolate makers, Theo Chocolates, based here in Seattle, definitely makes their products here. We've seen them on the factory tour. But they do source their chocolate (in fair partnerships) from other countries.

The Baking Powder (Rumford, made by Clabber Girl) was okay. Not sure about the flour because we'd ditched the packaging after pouring it into a canister. Salt (Morton) was fine.

How many tiers of "State-Madeness" are we willing to go to? What we decided:
- We absolutely prefer items made in the USA, from source to distribution.
- We can deal with an item made in the USA with possible overseas materials.
- "Carbon Credits" will be allowed on complex items, such as electronics. Cell phones, for example, have parts made in the US, but the batteries are made in Japan. If we buy an item like this, we'll make an equitable contribution to benefit children in need in the US. Doug is proposing a $1,000 limit on these items for the year. I don't know how realistic this will be.

Preliminary ground rules:
- We can keep stuff we already have that hasn't been made in the United States.
- We can accept gifts.

This is hard. We began talking about trying it for a year, but in the small amount of research we're doing this morning (on batteries, athletic gear for Doug's cycling and my running, shoes, breakfast cereal, car parts for our foreign made car), we're getting a taste for how challenging it is to live in an urban environment without relying on foreign made products. So, we'll give it a shot for a month. Four weeks from today. Thank goodness we're starting on Farmer's Market Day.

For you, dear readers: Think about what you're wearing. What you've got in your purse or backpack. How many of those things can you replace with only American made goods? Let me know.

Stuff I Saw During My Run

2011-04-09T15:50:00.000-07:00

- Litter. I know, it's everywhere, but litter just bums me out.

- A gray T-shirt, folded neatly and draped over a fence.

- Purple tulips, just about ready to open.

- A pristine orange Monte Carlo raised up, so it probably has hydraulics. Man, I miss those days!

- Four or five pairs of shoes. It looked like someone threw their boyfriend's stuff out of the car window but he didn't pick any of it up.

- A half-eaten piece of cake, on a red plastic plate with a fork. On the sidewalk. I am not making this up.

Lucky Number Seven

2011-04-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

I ran seven miles with my training group today. My toes went numb at mile four and I hobbled for the most of the end. I felt pretty good finishing, mostly because I finished at the same time as the woman I was chasing for most of the run. When I asked her what happened she said, "Oh, I ran an extra portion because we took an early turn and cut the course by a block."

Huh.

So, I guess I ran almost seven miles today.

But I'm still eating the chocolate croissant Doug got me as a treat.

Loving PDX

2011-04-08T22:22:00.000-07:00

The sign at Tasty n Sons, a restaurant in Portland.

Portland is the perfect weekend getaway for us. It's a three-hour drive, which is just enough time to feel as though you've gotten somewhere good without a sore bottom.

Our most recent trip a couple of weeks ago allowed us to check out the famed Portland Farmer's Market; a refurbished (and pretty hip) Marriott; Lodekka, a second-hand shop in a double decker bus and (not our usual sight-seeing fare) the Ultrazone in Milwaukee. Oh, and the girls and I gawked at the long line of people waiting for Voodoo Donuts while Doug changed our flat tire.

We began our first day in town at The Original, a diner Doug found on Yelp. Which we discovered (after walking down the block in the opposite direction) was connected to our hotel. The food was tasty, with healthier twists on regular diner fare. I fell hard for the steel cut oats.

A funky naugahyde wall at The Original diner.

Cool artwork at the diner by 'Panhandle Slim,' featuring quotes from famous folks.

I particularly loved this one of Cesar Chavez.

Although we are fanatically regular patrons of our beloved Ballard Farmer's Market, we relish opportunities to check out farmer's markets in other cities. I'd heard about PDX's market, but it exceeded all my expectations. First of all, I appreciate that there are no dogs allowed. I love dogs, but not where I'm tasting and buying food. Nor do I enjoy having parrots or ferrets at the market, either, both of which I have seen while perusing the produce.

The range of hot food booths was amazing: burritos, biscuits, vegan pastries, sweet and savory pies. Then from produce to baked goods to tea to pasta salads - it was fantastic. We'll have to go back in the summer when harvests are booming because if this was a sample of their market in the early days of the season, I can't imagine what goodness awaits in the warmer months. We bought kimchi, bread, cheese and jam, all of which made a delicious hotel room snack.

That afternoon was spent at a laser tag party at Ultrazone, which was our primary reason for the visit. Dear friends of ours were having a birthday party for their son there, so Doug and Em got their laser on while Phee and I played arcade games.

Em in front of the Lodekka double decker.

Not yet ready to hunker down in the hotel room, we meandered over to Williams Avenue to check the scene. Lodekka, a dress shop housed in a refurbished double decker bus, brought on the nostalgia with red and black plaid thermoses, retro hats and floral handkerchiefs. Down the street, Tasty n Sons was just opening their doors for dinner, and we were very happy with their small plates, especially the "Pretty Damn Good Chicken Strips" and the Bouillabaisse with mussels, octopus, prawns and rockfish. A pretty well-rounded day, really.

Naturally, any trip to Portland wouldn't be complete for us without a trip to Powell's Books. We read a little, attempt to explore a new room in the gargantuan store, stock up and hit the road back to Washington. It's usually very quiet between Powell's and Vancouver because the girls are digging in to their books.

On our way home we stopped for lunch in Olympia. We usually break in Tacoma, but we were pretty hungry at this point. We found The Bread Peddler on Yelp and Urbanspoon, and we were glad we got to try it! The cafe boasted a number beautiful sweet treats and the sandwiches looked great. Incidentally, I just want to tip my hat to the fair city of Olympia, our state capital. I found it charming and completely delightful. We're already planning to spend more time there on future day trips.

Down But Not Out

2011-04-07T13:11:00.000-07:00

Our family is finally coming out of our latest phase of illness. As many of you parents know, our little darlings run out into the world only to bring back the meanest, baddest germs you can imagine and gleefully goo them at us. My children are excellent germ disseminators. So excellent that both Doug and I were completely knocked down for a few days, trying to juggle work, parenting duties and our respective training schedules at the same time.

During these "down" times, we attempt a zen-like outlook where we declare that "the bridge is up." We live in a city divided by water, with a number of bridges that go up at some inopportune moments. Late to an appointment? Traffic is backed up because a boat with an incredibly tall mast is going through. Cars are stopped with engines off, their passengers leaving car doors open to lean against the edge of the bridge for a better look at the boat or to muse at the sun dancing on the water. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do but turn off your engine and wait, too. The bridge is up. Take a load off.

I love when the bridge is up - when I am appointment-free and the kids have already gone to the restroom. But I admit, as a lover of crossing off the To Do list, "bridge up" days are difficult. I beat myself up for failing to complete whatever tasks deemed important. I feel guilty for taking a nap.

When I shared these concerns with one of my trainers for the Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon, he encouraged me to rest up so I'll be totally ready to begin training again. When I returned, I was able to keep up with other runners who are usually in front of me. It felt great!

I'll continue to work on enjoying the "bridge up" days, perhaps even working a few more into our schedule to maintain a little more up and down balance.

I'm Up! I'm Up!

2011-03-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's not quite 7 a.m. on a Saturday and I am awake. As you may have guessed, I am not typically an early riser.

But this is the second official week of my half-marathon training, and dang it, I've got to get across town to meet my bright-eyed trainers.

Before I head off into the cold, dark morning (yeah, I know it's Daylight Savings now, but this is the Pacific Northwest. It won't be spring until, well, until it's spring.) I'm gathering my water bottle and dried fruit, making sure my iPod is charged and donning my reflective hat.

It's five mile run today. Hooray! (right?)

Girl Power. Oh, and books, too.

2011-03-07T15:08:00.000-08:00

I spent most of last weekend on Whidbey Island, one of the San Juans here in Puget Sound. Each year the gal pals from my book club take a night away to stay at the family home of one of our members. It's less than an hour to drive to the ferry dock and less than 30 minutes on the ferry to Whidbey, so it's the perfect distance from the city to feel like we've escaped without schlepping too far from home.

We meet for lunch at The Braeburn, a restaurant in the heart of Langley, then saunter around town to shop and browse. Langley is a sweet spot, with bookstores, galleries and a few unusual shops in converted houses. We finish out our shopping at The Star Store, where we gather whatever remaining food supplies we need for our shared dinner and next morning's breakfast. It's an ideal time to bond with fellow bookclubbers. Ordinarily we meet on a weeknight to discuss that month's book. Although we do our fair share of time off topic, it feels decadent to have no time limits, no expectant kids or spouses, no preparation for early mornings.

After our Langley stroll, we head to the house to settle in, then take a walk on the beach. In the past we've seen eagles above and whales spouting. Thankfully the rains stopped so we could enjoy the still blue waters and the snowy mountains in the distance.

Most of the year I feel obligated to these women. Yes, we are friendly and I see a few of them socially outside of book club. But we're together once a month to delve deeper into the book, which I truly believe, allows a greater understanding of ourselves. This may sound like I'm laying heavy hands on the book club, but since I've been a stay-at-home parent, my reading and the discussions around that reading are often my greatest intellectual stimulation. I ask a lot of these discussions, so I try to be as prepared as I can be in order to offer something of value in return. I'm challenged each month to ask more than, 'What did you like about the book?' because I deserve more than that - and so do these women.

So our Whidbey weekends feel a little like spring break. We shop, take walks, cook, eat, drink, analyze the best and worst dressed lists from the Oscars and maybe watch a movie based on a book we've read. Sometimes we talk about the book. This is also the time I remember to enjoy just being around these women. To forget what's on the page and remember how to connect on a personal level. I remember the power of a room full of women, all with our own histories, experiences, dreams, disappointments and plans for over coming those challenges. Each time a gal pal told a story to the group someone would counter with, "That could be a novel," or "That would make a good short story." And we meant it.

I love being among these women. I love that each year I get to know them in a different way. They are more inspiring than any of the characters we read about because they're real. And I'm lucky to know them.

Heart Beat

2011-02-11T14:04:00.000-08:00

"Valentine's Day" is on HBO. A lot. Probably because it's getting close to the big hearty day. It's not the best movie, but I find myself drawn to a few choice scenes, like this gem below:

Lust is not pretty

2011-01-21T23:16:00.000-08:00

Totally lusting after this:

Dr. Marten's Leather Satchel

And this:

Amazing typographic map of San Francisco from Axis Maps

Rockin' and Rollin' and Whatnot

2011-01-21T16:55:00.000-08:00

Instead of making resolutions for the new year, I tend to make goals. I call them 'goals' to take some of the pressure off myself when those 'goals' don't get met. Or, as is more often the case, it takes a lot longer to reach those goals than I anticipated.

One of my goals each year is to move. Yes, you could say 'exercise' or 'get in shape,' but if I tell myself I will move more, it makes me feel like that rush about I do on a daily basis as a mom is actually achieving something. That's why I was so excited about the fitbit, which is a small wearable device that calculates the steps you take, the calories you burn and the miles you've traveled. By wearing it, I feel like I'm more active than (perhaps) I really am, but it validates the constant scamper I run at. There's also a very appealing flower icon that grows as you become more active. (I really love it when the flower has 10 leaves on it!)
The fitbit also calculates how much sleep you've had and of course, when it syncs in to your online account, will tabulate all of your data so you have more informed picture of your health. If you want to add more data online, you can manually enter foods eaten, maximum heart rate, blood glucose levels and even your mood for the day.

I think it's a great tool to help you realize where you're at on a day to day basis, giving you more information to help long term goals. However, just when I got into the routine of remembering to wear it all day (and night), glowing in the number of leaves on my fitness flower, the display went dark. Apparently, there is already a software update/fix for the PCs, but as a Mac user, I'd have to wait.

I wanted to take the time to wear it, sync it, and base all my information on what appeared online. I wouldn't have to peek at how many steps I took between breakfast and lunch, right? But it was like carrying around an iPod where you could only hear your favorite playlist when you were plugged into the computer-far less gratifying than I wanted it to be. So, I'm returning the fitbit. A bummer, but a lack of display combined with its questionable durability make it necessary to find other alternatives.

I'll have to search for an alternative immediately because I signed up for the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon and I need a reliable training partner.

Big X

2011-01-16T14:41:00.000-08:00

We celebrated Emma's 10th birthday with an all-day-girls'-play-date. She invited her gal pals over for archery, lunch, cake and a movie. I thought Doug would feel horribly outnumbered, but he ended up taking them to sushi and cooking Korean desserts with them. There's something to be said for being the only male in the house!

Emma was very pleased to have her friends around on her special day. We are thrilled to watch our thriving, growing girl.

Em was happy with her loot.

Per her request, Doug drew a picture of Artemis on her cake.

Our rainbow cake for sending "iris messages."

test your gif

2011-01-11T14:07:00.000-08:00

Another Dave Sighting

2011-01-10T22:50:00.000-08:00

The world really must be getting smaller because I saw Dave Matthews again.

Seattle isn't a huge city, but it's not Mayberry, either. I've lived here 14 years and I've seen my share of Seattle royalty (Howard Schultz at the now closed Oceanaire, Bill Gates at the Bellevue Galleria movie theater, Jay Buhner at a Sammamish Plateau eatery). Running into Dave Matthews at the CityArts Festival was coincidental, but not too unrealistic. But running into Dave Matthews at my kid's gymnastics class was totally surreal.

I didn't even try to talk to him this time. I felt so dorky chatting him up last time. Most of the parents were visiting with one another or turning to look at little Johnny as he called out, "I'm on the rings, Mom! Look!" I try to keep an eye on Phoebe since this is her first session where I'm not on the mats with her. So folks were pretty cool, not gawking or anything. He's just a normal guy, holding his coffee, waiting for his kid to finish gymnastics class.

That's twice so far. I'll keep you posted if he shows up again next class.

A Look Back

2011-01-05T21:26:00.000-08:00

The holidays were a blur. Even though we kept it low-key and close to home, our family is still sort of recovering from the excitement. Here are a few moments I'm happy to look back on from the season.


Em and Phee during our pre-Thanksgiving snow

Phee sends her "Bighty" to Santa.

Phee is a natural on the drums.


I get a bass guitar from Santa!


The girls make cookies for Santa.


"Tangled" was a major theme for Phoebe this year.

Emma was thrilled with her "Spy Kit."

The girls hang out with Rachel the Pig at Pike Place Market during our 'staycation.'

Our impromptu sledding day at Snoqualmie.

Christmas Comes Early

2010-11-28T01:00:00.000-08:00

For some time I've been itching to learn to play an instrument. I played percussion instruments and the flute in school, and have been known to pick up our ukuleles once in a while. Doug will learn the girls' favorite songs on his guitar and we'll sing along, so there's really no need for me to pick it up. But lately I've become infatuated with the bass or the drums. When the Black Friday advert came around for The Guitar Center, I thought it might be time to check it out.

Despite the incredible amount of noise in there, I managed to fool around a bit on a bass with the assistance of a salesperson (Thanks, Matt!). After hearing him play "I Want You Back" by The Jackson Five, I was giddy to learn more. But eager to make an informed decision, I hit the drum section as well.
It's definitely gratifying to hit something hard without causing much damage. They even had a tiny-sized drum kit that Phoebe just dove into. We were all amazed by her, especially another customer who snatched up a kit for his niece, who is about the same age.

After experimenting - and going partially deaf - I decided on the bass. They had a pretty awesome beginner's kit which included the bass, an amp, headphones, cords, a strap and an instructional DVD. Pretty cool!

It's barely been 24 hours and I've already had a mini lesson from Doug's cousin, Larry. He showed me "So Lonely" by The Police and "Louie Louie." I feel like kids playing squeaky violins, but it's amazing! It's almost therapeutic to sit there and play the same notes over and over, just getting the feel of the instrument. I'm hooked!

2010-10-22T11:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Doug's birthday and the poor guy had the flu. We had planned to see The Weepies at CityArts Fest, but since he couldn't attend, I hit the Croc with cousin/gal pal MaryBeth.

MB and I both have kids, so a night out with the young and hip is a rarity. Hanging at an iconic (and recently re-opened) venue like The Crocodile Cafe is a bonus. We arrived on time -- the show was slated to begin at 7 p.m. -- only to find the line for ticket and wristband holders snaking around the block. After waiting about 30 minutes, we finally made our way to bar for our pre-show drink.

Have you ever stood at a bar in a club and wondered what the hell to order? Despite the popular resurgence of working-class beers, I really feel like my Olympia/Bud/PBR days are behind me. Not that I was ever much of a beer drinker, but I don't know, it feels odd to be drinking a tall can of PBR pretending I'm under 35. But I could have kissed MB for asking if she could get a Mint Julep. And snaps to me, who as a good date, asked the bartender if they served Mint Juleps. "NO," was the unflinching response I got before he turned to the cuter, younger, hipper girl next to me. I don't think I gained any street cred by then asking for a Rum and Coke, but at least I had a back up.

Lucy Schwartz was one of the opening bands. I had never heard of her, but she had a sweet, haunting voice. The other opener was The Head and The Heart, a local band creating a lot of buzz right now. I've barely heard anything from them, but from the minute they took the stage I was mesmerized. Amazing harmonies and intricate song arrangements. Very warm, heartfelt lyrics. I could easily see how this band's popularity has grown.

It seems that Dave Matthews is another fan of the band. Because MB and I were on the fringes of the crowd before The Head and The Heart began, I saw Dave come into the venue. Before I could help myself, I said, "Hey!" then stopped, because maybe it wasn't too cool to go tromping up to the guy if all he wanted was to hear some music. He made eye contact and sort of nodded. It just happened that we stood behind him and his friends during the show - and we weren't the only ones trying to snap pictures incognito. One slightly tipsy girl next to me goes, "Doesn't that guy look just like Dave MATTHEWS?!" and when I whispered, "That is Dave Matthews," she said, "What?! Yeah I THOUGHT that looked like DAVE MATTHEWS!" I have to give it to Dave, he was totally cool. He was just there, enjoying the music and seemingly open to whoever wanted to say hello. While I was standing at The Weepies merchandise booth before they took the stage, he was behind me talking to another woman. I asked him how he enjoyed The Head and The Heart and he said, "I'm kind of obsessed with them." Wow. It's great to see that people who are considered awesome talents and sources of great inspiration are also fans.

The Weepies sounded great. I really love Deb Talan's voice and look forward to the twisty tidbits in the lyrics. After hearing The Head and The Heart, the commercial aspect of The Weepies' music was more obvious than I remember. Very tidy songs. Not that I loved them any less, but I enjoyed getting a wonderfully unexpected taste of great music that evening.

Doug and I fell for The Weepies maybe five years ago after I heard Mandy Moore recommend them on an iTunes Celebrity Playlist. They just happened to be playing shortly afterward at The Tractor Tavern, a favorite spot here in Ballard. Their album, Say I Am You, is in constant rotation on my iPod. My only regret for the evening was that Doug wasn't there to enjoy it with me. Thank goodness KMTT has audio of The Weepies' Live from the Mountain Music Lounge show.

Baby Blues

2010-08-19T21:06:00.000-07:00

I have very vivid memories of picking fruit at the U-Pick farms in the East Bay when I was a teenager. My family and I would pick cherries, blueberries and strawberries for ourselves, but also to take back to Hawaii when we visited. One year we took a huge bucketful of cherries to my family, where we sat in the living room eating fruit until our fingers were stained red and our bellies ached.

Because our previous house had a number of flourishing garden beds (thanks to the previous owners), we simply stepped out back to pick blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. My garden beds in our current house aren't as established, so we got the girls in the car and headed to the Eastside for berry picking.

If you get a chance to hit a U-Pick farm near you, do it. Our little people felt a tremendous amount of pride eating what they picked and our oldest daughter now understands just how hard our farmers work.

Ran It!

2010-08-19T19:38:00.000-07:00

Me, shouting, "Hey, I'm over here!" at my husband as the race begins.

The Torchlight Run went well. I was nervous, mostly because I don't usually run with anyone and I wanted to keep up with my running buddy, Pei-Pei. And I know you're supposed to be able to talk easily while you run or you're running too fast (so all the running guides say), but I don't like to talk. When I run I'm focusing on my breathing, or mostly on remembering to breathe.

Breathing is supposed to be the most effortless activity our bodies engage in, right? We do it unconsciously, while we sleep. But I tend to hold my breath. When I was dancer, I held my breath a lot, sometimes coming out of a combination panting like crazy, not sure why. It wasn't until I began pre-natal yoga with my first child that I realized I had to work at breathing. If I remember to start slow, keep an even pace and concentrate on an even breath, my run goes well. It helps my head space, my self confidence, my motivation.

So I didn't want to get caught up in trying to go out fast or impress my running partner during the race. Luckily, because of the number of runners, I didn't have to. We were pretty jammed in between runners, then went straight to a hill. We ran on part of the Torchlight Parade route, which would begin an hour after the race. Families had already gathered, sitting in folding chairs on the sidewalks, cheering us on. Kids high-fived us as we ran past. It was uplifting and inspiring.

The tougher part came while running on Highway 99. It was the second half of the race, so I was getting tired. There weren't any cute kids cheering. We had to run through the Battery Street Tunnel to get to the final block of the race. Steady breathing helped my body, but knowing someone ran beside me helped my morale.

Pei-Pei and I shrieked when we saw the finish line. She asked if I wanted to sprint, but I opted to continue steadily. It felt great to complete my goal: I ran five miles in a race, something I'd never done before. I felt energized, ready to run again.

Red Shirting

2010-07-30T14:02:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the Torchlight Race, my first entry into a race I plan to run. Road Runner Sports had bibs, timing chips and race shirts available today, so I went down there to ensure I had everything before the butterflies took over tomorrow.

When the woman handed me my race shirt I almost began jumping up and down. Quite tactfully, she pointed to my info packet where it said, "38/F" and asked, "Is this information correct?" I must have wrinkled my brow at her because she went on softly, "I don't want to yell out, 'ARE YOU 38?'"
"Oh, yes, that's correct," I answered.
She pointed to her gray hair, "Because when you're 50, then we'll talk."
I found that inspiring and said, "Well, I hope I'm still doing this at 50!"

I worked out a bit harder over the weekend, but took it easy this week to give my body a rest for the race. Since I was nursing a hamstring strain, I didn't want to go crazy beforehand.
Next on my training regimen: Chocolate chip pancake carbo load tomorrow morning!

The Race to the free Clif Bars

2010-07-15T21:37:00.000-07:00

I went to a training run tonight sponsored by Super Jock n Jill to prepare for the Torchlight Race. There will be one a week until the race on July 31st, so I thought I'd check out this first one. It's my first race, so I have no idea what sort of perks go with registration.

It was held at Green Lake, a familiar and favorite spot, but since it was in the evening and I'm used to getting to to the park in the morning, I was not prepared for the crazy amount of people and traffic clogging every arterial. This is Seattle after all, and when the sun comes out, so do the people. Needless to say, I was 10 minutes late despite my best efforts.

Facilitators told me the group had "just left." I saw them up ahead as I forgot about my one-song-walking-warm-up and tried to push forward, on the off chance that the group took a breather and I could join them. I could see them, a few wearing dark green shirts from the recent Rock 'n Roll Marathon. It became an amazing incentive when I began to get hot and tired. Deep down I knew I would never catch up to them, but I kept thinking, "Maybe....maybe...."

I didn't catch up to them on the running loop. But at the meeting spot organizers had put out Clif bars and Talking Rain drinks. There was a raffle (for some pretty good gift certificates, shoes, gear) and just happy endorfin riders all around. Even though I was a bit behind and outside of the group, I felt closer to being a "runner" than before. And guess what? I even decreased my time!

I'm coming for you, Torchlight!

Getting the Digits

2010-07-12T16:24:00.000-07:00

Remember when my husband brought home a scale? Well, I didn't mention before that he's also monitoring his caloric intake, keeping an Excel spreadsheet and looking at online options to help improve his physical fitness.

I think improving one's physical fitness is admirable. I admire him. He is fit.

But I still want to weigh less than him. Even if it's just a pound or two.

When he shows me a new gadget or tracking system, I do the kindly, "That's nice, honey," and turn in a wifely way to the dishes in the sink or the brownies that need to come out of the oven. But now that I'm running more, and will begin to cross train on my non-running days (yes, I just found out what a 'burpee' is), I've been doing some physical fitness monitoring of my own.

The first, is keeping a running log. I started writing down the distances of my runs -- now that I think about it, I should probably be writing down the times -- how they went (easy, tough start but went okay, had to walk, etc.). While browsing around online, I came across the fitbit. I love the idea of tracking your rest as well as your activity. I know I don't get enough rest, but a constant reminder might be a good motivator to even the stats out. I also like that it tracks moderate activity, not just calories burned or mileage, but the activities that parent might engage in that could count as 'staying active.' Like playground time, or chasing a ball together, or hula hooping.

After surfing around the site, I realized hubby had shown me the fitbit months back. I'm not sure if I was doing dishes or eating brownies at the time, but I'm pretty sure I nodded. Now I want it. Maybe if I suggest his and hers...

It Keeps You Runnin'

2010-07-12T15:31:00.000-07:00

It's confession time: I haven't gone running in almost two weeks.

Life happens. Relatives visit, the end of school ushers in the beginning of summer, the two-year-old refuses to sleep between 2 and 4 a.m., lice, all of these issues can put a damper on anyone's training schedule, right?

If I were one of the super-moms in the book I'm reading, "Run Like a Mother," I would be running early in the morning or pushing my toddler in the stroller while my older daughter rides her bike--or whatever it is that fit moms do to log miles and stay in shape.

I haven't graduated from Mommy Fit Club yet, but judging by my run yesterday, I still might get the chance. I began early in the morning by walking. It's not my best time of day for anything. I convinced myself that walking at my favorite running spot is better than moping around at home, not running at all. Two weeks may not seem like a long period of time, but even a few inactive days can take the physical progress you've gained back to zero.

The walking warmed me up and got me loose. Tying my windbreaker around my waist, I broke into a slow jog. I probably spent a mile and-a-half struggling: my breathing was uneven, my shirt kept riding up and my windbreaker falling down. It was just messy.

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point my breathing found an even rhythm. I barely noticed my clothing. I started to feel good. On the paved path someone had marked the miles in chalk. As I passed a marker, I thought, "That was okay. I could probably run another," continuing on to the next chalk line. As I passed the lamp post where I started out, I thought, "I'll just go to the next line," and I ran on, breathing, pumping my arms, fueled by Black Eyed Peas' "Pump It." I recognized oncoming runners, from the intense guy with the 'Portland Marathon' shirt to the older woman with the "Danskin Triathlon" shirt. In "Run Like a Mother," the authors mention the race shirt as a means of motivation for finishing a race, and I really did want mine at that point.

Following those chalk-marked miles, I made it around Green Lake twice. Twice! Granted, I did walk the first ten minutes, but I completed more than five miles, which is what I'll need to do for the race I'm entered in at the end of the month. I was elated. Even with a bad start and a chubby-schlubby attitude, I could turn it around.

My body is a bit creaky today, but otherwise, I feel good. I feel like doing it again.

Watch out, Torchlight! Here I come!

Daring to Return

2010-07-07T21:06:00.000-07:00

You know my adoration for the movie, "Xanadu." So you understand my complete giddy delight upon seeing the latest video from the band, Rooney.

I was up at a ridiculous hour due to a sleepless night minding the two-year-old. From the first frame, where they showcase the exterior of the club that becomes "Xanadu," (formerly the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles), I knew this video would cheer me up. Just a little somethin' to hold you over until the "Grease Sing-along" comes your way.

Put Your Art Into It

2010-07-06T00:24:00.000-07:00

I am currently obsessed with the reality show, "Work of Art," on Bravo. It's basically a group of artists who create works based on challenges that are evaluated to see if their "art works" for the judges. "Project Runway" on a canvas.

I love this show for the same reasons I love "Project Runway." The creative process is fascinating. I like seeing what mediums the artists choose, what risks they take and how they resolve issues about their early concepts versus the finished product. I enjoy watching how they incorporate simple photographs (or in one episode, a photocopier image!), pen and ink, chalk, even computer programs like Photoshop to convey their interpretations of the challenges.

In one episode the contestants were asked to make book covers for classic novels. The winner would have their art published on the cover of the book. So awesome. The image above is the winning Penguin Books cover of "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells, art by John Parot.

2010-07-04T21:22:00.000-07:00

I grew up with three older, sports-playing brothers, so I'm no stranger to four-letter words. In fact, I use them quite a lot, despite the chastisement of my nine-year-old ("Mom, that is inappropriate language!"). But here's a four-letter word I cannot bear to utter, even in the best of circumstances: LICE.

Yes, my child has brought home lice. This isn't the first time - and probably won't be the last - but the first time was so traumatic that I have a hyper sensitivity to the mere mention of it. The first time we found lice on Emma was the day I went into labor with Phoebe. Two weeks early.

I don't think the lice induced labor, so let's not lay anymore lifestyle aggravating blame on them than necessary. But the feeling of sheer hopelessness while I watched Doug walk out the front door to go to work as I looked at the heaping piles of bedding I needed to wash and the head of hair I needed to comb through is still pretty fresh almost three years later. I was psyching myself up to face the lice, the laundry, the breathing mask I'd have to wear as I washed Emma's hair with the chemical shampoo I was yet to buy and the intense fine-tooth-comb-comb-through when I went to the bathroom and found I was bleeding.

This was not unusual during my pregnancy with Phoebe, but something felt off. Odd. So I called my doctor's office, who gave me the go-ahead to come in to see if my water had broken. (Incidentally, having your water break isn't always the large gush of fluid one thinks it is, a la Miranda's water breaking all over Carrie's Louboutins. It didn't happen that way for me with Emma, and I was finding, it wouldn't with Phoebe.)

More panic set in. What the heck do I do with a kid while the doctor is giving me a pelvic exam? Am I even allowed to take her in with me? What happens if I actually have to deliver and it's just me and Emma? Is it bad form to ask the friends on our "Emergency Delivery Check List" to leave work to take my child to their house and oh, by the way, deal with her lice? What the hell do I do?

It was almost 10 a.m. Doug would be going into a meeting at 10 that could last 15 minutes to an hour, where it would be difficult to reach him. Luckily, I reached him before he got into the meeting and asked him to meet me at my appointment. He could help Emma and be available if we needed to make any major decisions should something go wrong with the baby.

I was running around the house, throwing books, a laptop, DVDs and snacks into a bag for Emma. I had no idea how long we'd have to wait to see the doctor, for test results, for Doug. If there was an issue, I wanted her to be plugged into a Disney film happily munching on cheese sticks. With a hat on her head.

To my great relief Doug got to the doctor's office before I did. To my horror, yes, my water had broken. We needed to get to the delivery center to get placed on a monitor. If I didn't deliver within 48 hours, there could be great danger. Doug's greatest comedic timing came when after this announcement from the doctor, he turned to her and said, "Yeah, and by the way, would you mind checking us both for lice?"

We went home. While Doug went nuclear on Emma's head with the lice shampoo and the fine-tooth comb, I put new bedding on the beds, started the super hot water wash, vacuumed and managed to throw an overnight bag together. His parents were on their way (and to this day, I'm not sure they understood what they were walking into).

As we said goodbye to Em and her grandparents, I felt a huge load lift from my enormous belly. Now all I had to do was push the baby out of it. Incidentally, it took longer to deal with the lice drama that morning than it did to deliver Phoebe that evening.

Flash forward to four days ago. The dreaded louse on Emma's head. The toxic shampoo, the comb through. We had plans to visit friends for the Fourth of July weekend on Orcas Island, but that wouldn't happen. Em was such a good sport about it all despite her obvious disappointment. Phoebe watched a lot of movies while I sifted through Emma's hair over and over again. We've been washing and rubbing with so much Tea Tree that our house smells like the Australian outback.

But nobody else in our house got lice, thank goodness. Em's been clear since yesterday morning. Our vacation turned staycation became a nice excuse for us to hunker down and spend time as a family. Although I hate dealing with lice, the notion that we survived the first time and managed to deliver a healthy baby, then got our act together the second time so the lice remained contained, helps reinforce my confidence in us Kims as a cohesive unit.

'Lice' isn't the only four-letter-word that brought our family closer, but the best four-letter-word I can think of also had a hand in it: Love. In my mind, no nit will ever louse that up.

Heavyweight

2010-06-29T17:08:00.000-07:00

My husband bought a scale. I am mortified.

I'm not one of those people who are 'anti-scale.' I do step on them, dreading where the numbers will stop. If it were more like Wheel of Fortune, at least we'd get 'Lose a Turn' and just be disappointed we didn't get to play the game. But with scales you have to watch as the little black line wavers back and forth until it decides that you played far too hard in the preceding hours and now you'll have to pay with a huge tab: your undesirable triple-digit score. Or, if you have a digital display scale (which is what Doug brought home), you can watch the numbers climb up and up as the lines go from '4'...no, no, wait...'7,' no...oh, '9.' Ugh.

Like most modern-day women, I'm not 100 percent satisfied with my body. I don't usually get caught up in the numbers game, but I would like to weigh less than my husband. I would like to have more firm parts than jiggly parts. We eat well, stay fairly active and don't smoke. We aren't in a health risk range. But a scale? I'm just not sure I want to be tempted to step on it and feel crappy about the numbers. Is this the test? Is this where I'm supposed to say, "This is an opportunity! You can step on the scale and choose to feel great about how much you weigh!"

Well, I'm not buying it. I've already stepped on it twice and I've taken the opportunity to scrunch up my face and hiss at it.

Sore sport

2010-06-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

I'm sore today.

The "I-must-be-getting-old-and-I-am-out-of-shape" kind of sore.

And I didn't even run.

Sunday morning I got up and at 'em, out the door before 7 a.m. I am not a morning person, nor do I enjoy getting out of bed for any reason before 9 a.m. But knowing that this was my only opportunity for a run/walk before Tuesday, I had to grab the chance while I could. So, in an effort to prepare for my upcoming 8K, I decided to walk it.

I'm having some trouble wrapping my brain around the time necessary to run this race. Based on my 11+ minute-miles, I figure it will take me about an hour and-a-half to complete it. To knock down some mental barriers (and because I don't think I could run it), I decided to walk twice around Green Lake.

I've walked around twice before, but always during gab-fests with girlfriends where the time and distance melted away with our chatting. This time I had Regina Spektor.

It was great. It was the day after the Rock 'n Roll Marathon, so I'm guessing lots of folks ordinarily running Green Lake on a weekend morning were rightfully asleep. The weather was cool, with the sun peeking out. I was invigorated for the rest of our Sunday, which consisted of our weekly visit to the Ballard Farmers' Market, the library, yard work with the girls outside. I felt good. Until I didn't.

My neck started its old flare around 10 p.m. Ibuprofen and ice helped until I fell asleep around 11 p.m. When my two-year-old climbed into bed with us at 2 a.m., I was so twisted and turned that I couldn't handle lying down anymore. I went downstairs to the La-Z-Boy.

Despite watching, "Behind the Music: Courtney Love," most of "Apollo 13," "Far and Away" and every horrible informercial you can imagine, I still couldn't sleep. By the time "Flight of the Conchords" came on at 6:30 a.m., I drifted off just in time to be awakened by Doug, who was getting ready for work despite not getting any sleep, either.

Today was rocky. I felt better after more ibuprofen and lots of water. Stress, coupled with not replenishing fluids hit me hard. If I'm going to continue training, I'm going to need to fuel my body with stuff it can actually use. I thought a 2-year-old's 2 a.m. wake-up call was rude, but our own bodies can be very convincing.

Bankin' On It

2010-06-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

There's a food bank in my neighborhood. It's on one of the main streets leading from our house to our neighborhood's downtown area. Passing it upsets and confuses me. Not because it's an eyesore or that I don't agree with having a food bank in a residential neighborhood, but because there are people waiting outside.

The food bank is open three days a week, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. When I drop my girls off at school before 9 a.m., oftentimes a line has already formed. Rain or shine, clients wait with their books and their boxes for the food bank to open. Some have children with them. Most look like anybody else you'd see on the street, in the grocery store, at the movies. A couple of older Chinese ladies, their dark hair curled in place, their clothes tidy and fitted, smiled at me, nodding, "Ni hao, ni hao."

I'm conflicted about the food bank because it saddens me to think there are so many people without enough to eat. Yet I'm relieved that the food bank is there. I hate that it's necessary. I love that there are volunteers donning plastic gloves sorting through my donated clothing, glad to know their clients will have more choices for job interviews.

I wait in line for tickets to a show, to buy an electronic device, to get on a treadmill at the gym. These people are waiting in line to eat. I'm not sure what to do with that. Of course, there's guilt, especially since I was raised by a single parent who didn't let me leave the table until I'd eaten everything on my plate (a habit I have to force myself not to do with my own children). But there's something more, a challenge perhaps, to myself and my family. Are we biting off more than we can chew? Can we examine how we buy and consume food so that we're happy with 'enough'?

I snack a lot during the day. I'm home, I'm chasing my girls, the only meal I usually sit down for is dinner. I watch my daughters eat until they're full and when they say, "I'm done," they're done. They take their plates into the kitchen and go on with their days. I finish the food on my plate without paying much attention to it. I usually finish what's left on theirs by the time the dishes have to be washed. For whatever psychological reason, I'm hungry "for somethin'" an hour later. It's an odd cycle.

Seeing people line up at the food bank challenges me to rethink how I think about food. Right now there's a huge food movement happening - slow food, organic food, all natural food, locally grown food - "Foodie" has entered our lexicon. People are concerned about where their food comes from, what's in it, who makes it. It's all a heavy, distended stomach weighing us down.

My challenge to myself is to lose some of that weight. To ask, "Why do we have so much food?" "Why are we compelled to fill our pantries and refrigerators?" To just enjoy the sensation of satiation.

BTW:
While making a donation to the food bank today, I learned that they're moving to another location. It's not on my direct route, but it's still in the neighborhood. I think about the change that means for their patrons - and for me.

Running Doesn't Really Suck

2010-06-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

I ran four miles the other day. Ahhhhhh!

I have never envisioned myself as a runner. When it came time to complete the Presidential Physical Fitness testing in school, I was always at the end of the line during the 1-mile run. On the eve of the big run one year I actually ran around my house playing "Manic Monday" by The Bangles on a 45 record four times in a row. The song clocks in at about three minutes and I figured if I could jog for over 10 minutes, then I probably just ran a mile. (I still can't hear that song without picturing the hallway between my room and the living room, which acted as my track.)

Ever since we moved to Seattle 14 years ago, I've enjoyed walking around Green Lake. It's a little oasis nestled between State Highway 99 and Interstate 5. The paved trail around the lake is about 3 miles, there's a community center and pool, playground, and water enthusiasts can row, paddle, canoe and fish. It's also pretty flat. And did I mentioned paved?

For a non-runner like myself, this is the ideal place to walk - and I did - before kids for romantic strolls with my husband, with girlfriends to catch up on the latest gossip, and with kids (in carriers, strollers, on bikes with training wheels). While power walking one day, I just wondered what would happen if I jogged a little. Just picked up the pace a bit. It felt pretty good, so I kept going. I may have lasted about a quarter of a mile before I gave up, but the seed was planted that day: running doesn't really suck.

Over time I built up my running intervals so that a trip to Green Lake by myself usually means I'm going for a run. I still love to walk it when I'm with friends or the kids, but if I can sneak out of the house for some exercise on a clear day, I'm usually at Green Lake. And after the first quarter mile speed walk warm-up, I'm usually jogging.

Don't get excited, though. I'm not going to break any records. I don't mind being slow, but I do want to challenge myself. Which is why I signed up for the Seafair Torchlight 8K race at the end of July. I've never even run a 5K race, but since I already know I can do three miles fairly comfortably, I decided to push it a bit.

So on Tuesday when I explained to Doug that I needed to get out to run and he mentioned he needed to run an errand, our bargaining for who would manage the kids ended up motivating my training.
"Why don't you run down there and meet us? I'll take the girls in the car and we'll drive you home," Doug suggested.
"How far do you think it is?"
(Consults computer) "4.3 miles."
Oh.

I can't complain, since an early chunk of the route is downhill. I walked at points. I learned a lot about running on city streets versus on a pristine path near a lake. Car traffic aside, there's a lot of pollution you're breathing in. Much of my route curved through an industrial area with smoke, diesel fuel fumes and trucks kicking up dirt and gravel. But I made it. I finished the route-the longest route I can ever remember running in one go-and I was still standing at the end of it. The three most important people in my life met me there, holding a water bottle, giving me hugs and holding the fruits of Doug's errand: a huge bag of chocolate.

Socially Acceptable

2010-06-04T09:53:00.000-07:00

My blog has been languishing lately, which doesn't really effect anyone in the world, not even me, since it just frees me up. But I feel guilty about not posting because an old friend of mine I've known since middle school (and haven't seen in over, ahem, 15 years) actually reads it! So, Chris, I'm back mostly because of you.

If you keep up with me in other online social arenas, you know that I do post to Facebook and twitter on a regular basis. I hit posterous for interesting photo ops on occasion and I try to keep up the print to pixel blog. And yes, I confess to a dorky pride in the badges I've earned on foursquare. (One does see why even small companies are hiring social networkers to represent their brands online these days. Maintaining an online presence takes a lot of time.)

I don't usually hurt for things to talk about, just the time it takes to sit down and write about them. The beauty about FB and twitter is that they require fewer than 200 letters to get the gist of what's going on. I even logged into tumblr because I thought that format might be a good means of getting something out into the world while my toddler is napping.

Social networking is interesting on many levels, but fascinating to me in just how isolating it can feel. I opened my FB account in 2006 because I was back in college and I wanted to get a slice of what students were into. This was still when you needed a .edu e-mail account to access FB and the exclusivity of it appealed to me. As a 30-something back in college for a fellowship, it became a fascinating arena in which to observe college students.

Despite the ridicule I endured from the other fellows in our program (including my husband), I loved making connections with the students in my classes. Following them online made the gaps in age and experience between us narrow. But however many people "friended" or "followed" me, I still felt (and continue to feel) the screen between us. Naturally, there is a safety for all parties when there's a piece of hardware between them. I look at the sites I frequent as a means of making connections with people because I'm fairly isolated in my life as a stay-at-home-parent. It's a chance to not only chat with other parents near and far, but to breach other communities in which direct access might be difficult (my love of letterpress, typefaces, technology, writing, gardening, keeping chickens...). I love knowing what buzz is humming.

But that's really what it feels like: Buzz. A constant swirl of noise that distracts, perhaps detracts from direct experience. Don't misunderstand me--I love knowing what's "trending." I love getting instant updates about what people are eating for breakfast and what they thought of the 'Glee' finale. I love the illusion that by following Brooke Burke on Twitter I, too, might be able to have the career, the hot husband and the family all while maintaining double D's and size-4 jeans.

It just feels like integrating our avatars into our real lives is a delicate dance where I wonder, "Who am I actually dancing with?" and "Why am I doing it through a computer screen?"

I would love to eventually meet up with the people I meet through the internet, but I really love that most of the people I interact with are people I've met in person, but continue to bond with online. The goal is to stay connected, and that in itself feels good.

Utter Glee

2010-04-14T13:17:00.000-07:00

Last night, "Glee" resumed its second half of the television season. To celebrate, organizers at One Degree put together a flash mob here in Seattle last weekend. And guess what? I was there!

I learned the choreography online, though I could not convince my nine-year-old to take part. She half-heartedly agreed to come with me to the events, but only if she could bring a book.
We weren't sure what to expect once we got there, but once everyone started dancing and jumping around, I could feel my entire body become uplifted and tingly. I love music and dancing, but coming together with a group of people who are there simply because they love feeling joyful--gleeful--made more of an impact. There were older people, children, teenagers, people my age. I met a woman who participated even though she'd never even watched "Glee." She didn't really know the music, either. I finally asked her, "If you don't mind, can I ask why you're doing this?"
"Because I just love to dance."

This crazy mob of happy people were frolicking and connecting to one another in my city. It made fall for Seattle and its quirky mix of techies, hipsters, soccer moms, business people and their kids even harder.

Take a look for yourself here.

There's an app for that

2010-03-26T23:14:00.000-07:00

I recently downloaded the Hipstamatic application. I haven't done extensive tests to compare the lighting of the three lenses that came with it because they're all pretty interesting. Yeah, the retro quality of the pictures is cool, but I love how the varied light dimensions bring out greater depth and energy to the subjects. In an era where HiDef and 3D televisions become commonplace, it's nice to celebrate the imperfection of the subject.
Here are a few photos I shot that I absolutely love:

Non-census

2010-03-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

I just filled out my 2010 census. I'm a little conflicted about it.

Before the 2000 Census I remember that 1. I didn't know much about why we did it and 2. Ethnic groups were marketing heavily in order to get people to choose their box on the forms. I remember this clearly, because as a person of Hawaiian ancestry, the word was out in my community to "be counted" in order to get money. That's pretty much what I associated with the census-a government mandate that created competition between racial groups to fight for funds.

Not only did the numbers create conflict between minority groups, it created discord within households as there was only one designation for race--for all members of that household.

My husband is of Korean ancestry. I am Hawaiian, Chinese, Filipino, Portuguese, English, Irish, Spanish and French. Because my husband is the main bread winner in our home, usually his name appears first on our legal paperwork such as taxes, insurance papers and the like. So when we have to choose a representative for our entire household, it's likely that we use my husband's information. But because I am a part of an indigenous group that could use some money, I was inclined (and encouraged by the Hawaiian community) to check the 'Native Hawaiian' box regardless of my other nationalities or those of the others in my home.

How did I answer the 2000 Census? I didn't. When they came to my house asking me to fill out another, I didn't. It wasn't until an auditor called and asked me to provide the information that I finally answered, claiming 'Native Hawaiian.' It didn't feel entirely representative of myself or my household.

I don't like the boxes they make you check to classify yourself, mainly because for a very long time, 'Native Hawaiian' was not an option. Choosing more than one box was not allowed on certain forms, alienating myself and other multi-racial or multi-ethnic people. Most forms neglected to provide a write-in option. Therefore, I spent many years checking the infamous 'Other' box.

Interestingly though, this census has a number of races listed on their form. With multiple check-offs encouraged and write-in options. It's a step in the right direction.

Part of my conflict is because this time I actually feel for the 'White' category. This year's census has break-downs for 'Other Asian,' where one could print in Hmong, Laotian, Thai, Pakistani, etc. Or 'Other Pacific Islander,' with Fijian, Tongan, etc. But Europeans? They get 'White,' and that's it. Here I am, excited to finally be able to check off every Asian race I embody in individual boxes, plus the 'Native Hawaiian' box, but I actually had to write in 'European' under the category of 'Some other race.'

For a long time my philosophy was to check 'Other' because it didn't feel right to claim one race or nationality if I couldn't claim the others. Some people who are multi-racial identify with one group, so they feel free to check one box. Fine. But for me, I want to be able to give it my all or nothing. (And what's up with the point that "For this census, Hispanic origins are not races."?)

I began filling out this year's census with every intention of completing it to the best of my ability. After having done so, I feel like I gave away too much information without being as thorough as I'd hoped. Essentially, I was asked about my identity and given fewer tools than necessary to answer. I'm glad to see ten years has expanded the lens of our government, but I'd love to see the 2020 Census envelope contain a single sheet of paper that reads, "Tell us about yourself. Or better yet, draw a picture."

bird sighting

2010-02-14T23:22:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pictures of the birdies I made for my valentines. The nest was difficult, but a very good lesson in patience, the importance of building on a solid foundation and the merits of mother birds.

Enjoy!

Love birds

2010-02-14T22:20:00.000-08:00

I was determined to make valentines cards for friends and family this year. I experimented with a few little card doodles and shapes, finally deciding on a love bird theme. Then after seeing the movie, "Bright Star," I was totally inspired by the letters John Keats sent to Fanny Brawne. Deeply in love with words, especially coupled with the tactile sensation of holding paper with lovely handwritten script, I fell hard for the idea of sending that kind of emotion to people I care about.

I'm pretty excited with the results. It was gratifying to spend the time making something with love and care, and even more wonderful to get a message from a friend saying they were happy to receive it. I wanted to take it a little further for Doug and the girls. Since I've been home with them, much of my time is spent preparing our home, cleaning, washing, arranging. I decided to make a folded bird card, connecting the birds at their beaks. And I wanted to make a nest to sit the birdie in.

We have a lavender bush in our front yard which I've neglected. The lavender stalks have grown tough and dry, but I thought they would be sturdy while emanating a wonderful scent. Being a busy mom, naturally, I had other things to do besides get started on this nest. Late last night I began assembling the nest, and I tell you, I have a new found respect for birds. I have a number of tools to use and opposable thumbs and it was really really hard.

The good news is that the birds in the nest looked great. The bad news is that I was up so late making them that I was completely zonked out and didn't see my family's reaction to them! But we had a wonderful day, sharing lots of sweet treats and special hugs. I hope all of you were able share your love and aloha with the people who are close to you.

Olympic Opening Ceremony

2010-02-13T00:21:00.000-08:00

I get pretty choked up during the Olympics. I don't consider myself hugely patriotic, but I do take great pride in the determination and dedication of the athletes. They're giving everything of themselves to excel at their sport on an international level and we don't have to deal with ridiculous talk of salaries or teams leaving towns. These athletes are our countrymen and women. They kick ass at their sport. I dig it.

What helps suck me in are those mini biographies the TV channels host, where you get a glimpse of the athlete's background. I love their childhood photos, hearing from their neighbor or pastor or their parents about how special little Shaun or Julia or Apolo was when they were younger. I have a vivid memory of watching Ekaterina Gordeeva's bio blip and how they dubbed in "For Your Eyes Only" over a final picture of her performing, her face cropped in tight onscreen. Cheesy, but memorable.

The Opening Ceremonies were very entertaining. It's amazing what you can do with some fabric and lights! When the huge bear popped up from the floor, I was excited, but the whales were, well, killer! Very very cool effects. I loved watching the teams enter. They are full of wonder and excitement, hope so tangible it tingles toward you through the television.

I haven't been keeping up with the team, so I don't have any picks or predictions. But I will be cheering for Apolo Anton Ohno, Seattle golden boy, Dancing with the Stars champ, and really, soul patch and Cosby sweaters aside, just an all around great guy.

Good luck, Team USA!

Howlin'

2010-02-10T21:33:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we made the trek to The Great Wolf Lodge. It's a large hotel, about two hours south of Seattle. They have a large, indoor water park in the lobby-a huge draw for the gray days of February in the Northwest.

Friends of ours who have already been twice gave us the lowdown: Check in is at 4 p.m., but you can come earlier in the day to get access the water park. Pack a snack or lunch, since there aren't many economical places to eat, most rooms have a fridge to keep food overnight. There are lockers with showers so you can even swim after you check out. Maybe we could get through the weekend with minimal damage to our wallets and maximum enjoyment after all.

We arrived to find the huge hotel packed. The line to check-in went down the entire desk, then back again. There was a lot of commotion, framed in the back by large windows looking into the water park. Luckily, the line moved briskly and our room was ready. Time to hit the park!

I don't know how big the physical space of the park is, but every inch is maximized. We spent much of that afternoon in the wave pool, but there is also a large toddler water play area (equipped with slides, replicas of water skis where kids can climb up to "ride" them while pointing water hoses at their parents, fountains, the whole bit), an indoor and outdoor hot tub, a centralized play area with water spraying everywhere and an enormous bucket of water that "spilled" every few minutes. I haven't even gotten to the three water slides, two of which extend out the back of the building and are lit up at night.

The girls loved it. Emma didn't seem to mind getting rolled around in the wave pool while Phoebe enjoyed the toddler slide. Doug and I remained in a state of shock at the size of the place and the sort maniacal frenzy that occurs when kids run amok. Not to mention the body content.

I've never been much for running around scantily clad in public, so I'm never really prepared for others who do. Living in Seattle, it's sort of nice to know that I'm required to wear multiple layers more than six months out of the year. But in this water park, it was all there-the bulges, the man-boobs, the fake boobs, tattoos-much more information about the people staying within close proximity of me than I wanted to know.

And of course, when you have kids in an isolated place, you have stuff for sale that their parents get sucked into buying. There's a game happening at the lodge called MagiQuest. There are a series of "quests" you have to complete using a wand. The kid waves the wand in front of a treasure chest, a raccoon statue, or whatever has the MagiQuest symbol and that object animates or makes a noise. Naturally, the wand costs money. If you want it to actually make the treasure chest open up or the jewels the light up, you have to buy in to play the game. Then there are the "toppers" that decorate your wand, the ribbons that hang from the wand and the holster to hold your wand. It's maddening how totally captivated they have you and your kids. Just standing in the store I eavesdropped on three arguments between parents who couldn't agree on how much of that stuff to buy.

We got wands for both girls (without accessories) and bought the game for Emma, making her promise to animate the objects behind Phoebe if she figured out the wand waving. I have admit, if I was a kid waving a wand at a picture that suddenly lit up and started talking to me, I'd think that was super cool. Our girl felt the same. Emma ran around the lobby with very elaborate flourishes of her wand, even yelling out spells from "Harry Potter." Phee caught on right quick when a treasure chest opened for her shining with jewels and exclaimed, "I did it! I DID it!"

I loved that they were engaged, relatively safe in a hotel of other families doing the same thing, and feeling totally empowered by their newfound magical abilities. We were joined in the merriment by our friends, The Angulo Family, as well as Doug's cousin and his family (The 'L Kims'), so the girls had familiar faces to explore with them. It was far too late before the kids hit the hay, but that's what "crazy-up" time is about, right?

Throughout the weekend I thought a lot about the difficulties of taking the family out, whether it's on vacation, to a restaurant, or even to the grocery store. Everybody has their own agenda: The kids want to be entertained and have fun while the parents worry about logistics, safety, expense, avoiding tantrums and where the coffee and alcohol are located. As I watched one couple argue over the cost of the MagiQuest wand, it was obvious that they were not following the same agenda. The father was enamored with the light-up topper, perhaps even more so than his son. The mother flatly refused to pay for it. When the mother-in-law got involved, I wished I could turn my ears off.

I stood there asking myself, why do we do this? Why do we plunk down a lot of money for places like these? Why do we literally buy into the fantasy being sold to us? Why do we encourage it in our children? Looking around the shop, I saw couples conflicted, at odds with their children's expectations as well as their own. Just getting the car loaded up and the kids ready was stressful enough, then you have to navigate around the other families, the hotel merch, and keeping track of your kids amidst the sea of other crazy little gnomes.

Standing in line to buy our wands, Doug had turned to me and said, "Can we just come back and do this later?"
I answered, "We're already in line. It might be worse later."
But I wish I had realized what I was hoping for then. We were there together-as a family. We wanted our kids to have fun, and have fun with them. We wanted to give them the unexpected thrill of riding a water slide. We wanted them to be free to splash and laugh, swallowing water and gurgling to the surface. We wanted our girls to feel empowered when they made a bear statue light up or chipmunks sing them a song. In times like these, their joy becomes ours because we feel like we're finally doing something right.

That happiness. Knowing how difficult it can be to keep everyone in line, yet growing - thriving even - then seeing a crooked-toothed grin or hearing the spontaneous cry, "That was the best weekend of my life!"
It's totally rewarding. When Doug and I first talked about having children our goals were relatively simple. We just wanted them to be happy and well-adjusted. It may be too soon to tell, but I can't help but hear Phee's little voice, still clear in my mind as she shouted, "I DID it!"

Something Sweet

2010-02-08T12:57:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite up-and-coming musicians is Kina Grannis. I first heard about her when she entered the Doritos Crash The Super Bowl commercial contest a couple of years ago. Although I prefer her original, "Message From Your Heart," the video that aired that Super Bowl Sunday must have spoken to people, because she won.

Kina's album, Stairwells, is available for pre-order today. But you can also check out her video, "Valentine," here. Just a little pre-Feb. 14 cheer to share. I love the simplicity of the video, especially paired with a sort of domino-meets-flip-book animation scheme. It's the perfect sweet treat to brighten your Monday.

I admire how tenacious Kina has been regarding her musical career. She obviously loves music very much, using it to connect with her sisters, who regularly sing on her videos, as well as a means of connecting with viewers on her blog and youtube channel. In this age of consistent consumption, it's refreshing to find someone generating and utilizing their creative gifts to spread positive energy into the world.

Congrats, Kina! All the best right back at you.

Lose Yourself

2010-02-03T14:14:00.001-08:00

Okay, I know a ton of folks were on the "What's going to happen on 'Lost'?" bandwagon before last night. Now we're all on the "What the hell happened on 'Lost'?" bandwagon. Seriously, yeah, questions were answered, but so many more sprouted up in their places.

If you aren't up to date and don't want to hear the spoilers, stop reading.
(Even if you haven't caught up, I still care about you deeply. But come on, people, it's not the like this is "The Crying Game." Lost news is all over the place. Full episodes air on Netflix.com and Hulu.com If you're reading this blog you probably have some computer savvy. So if you care about hearing the spoilers GET CAUGHT UP, YOU NINNY!!) Ok. 'Nuff said.

The main point weighing on my brain:

*The Evil Twin Effect.
Alternate planes? (Get it?!) Seeing our beloved flawed heroes at their most intensely flawed? It seemed so bewildering, so bizarre...and SO RIGHT. Where else could we go? Nowhere - except on the Jughead H Bomber Express back in time. It was fun to see our old flirty, dirty Sawyer. It was amusing to see Jack "fixing" Charlie. I could only shake my head as Kate worked yet another evasive maneuver. But the absolutely most painful dark doppelganger to watch was Jin's. I cringed as he told Sun to button up her sweater. I cringed until I had to just shut my eyes so I couldn't see the subtitles as he was marched away by customs. Chagggeeeeaaaahhhh!!!!!

The idea of metamorphosis is not new to Lost. Change, evolution-we've watched these characters develop for the last five years. It isn't easy to see them revert back to their previous selves. It reminds me what great leaps we humans can make, even in the course of 108 days. The situations that arise, how we handle them, the choices we make that influence the paths we take. Then, what happens when a host of new choices present themselves. Like Jacob said in Season 5: "It only ends once. Anything that happens before that is just progress."

108 days ago it was the end of October. Since then I've learned how much happier my body feels when I stay away from dairy. I've learned to be kinder to myself during the holidays-after all, this one went well with a very limited amount of fanfare. I've learned that people are who they are. We can't really change them no matter how different we'd like them to be and despite how much we plead or cry. Simply standing next to someone as they make their own path can be enough. I'd like to think I've learned to let go a little bit.

Not all of these lessons are new. I, for one, continue to be amazed at how many instances it takes to learn something. It seems like I have to experience them in a variety of ways before my understanding is enhanced. And it will probably never be complete. Even after this last season of Lost is over, we'll probably have more questions than ever.

But isn't that what this life is all about? Searching, questioning, processing? Our inherently human ability to ask is one aspect that helps drive me each day. What lies before me? How will I act? What can possibly lie ahead?

New Technology

2010-01-28T20:49:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't ordinarily say that I'm technologically savvy. In college I used to hand write all my papers before typing them into my typewriter, just to be sure I had it just right before committing it to ribbon. But compared to some colleagues and friends, I guess I have a comprehensive understanding of how technology works. At the very least, I'm comfortable enough using programs and applications to make the few gadgets I've got function.

I recently purchased a Wacom Bamboo Tablet. I wish I was an arty type who needed the freedom to manipulate pixels with a flush of the pen, but it was really more to help my carpal tunnel. I am a supreme mouse user, so I was in a lot of wrist pain before I broke down and looked at alternatives. Trackballs are okay, but after comparing a Logitech Trackball to the Tablet, I went with the latter.

It's taking some time, but I'm finally getting used to it. There's an elongated click button on the stylus, which has been the trickiest part for me. You can differentiate single and double clicks by where you click on the button. Luckily for me, you can also double tap with the stylus, so after I'm frustrated with my lack of stylus-clicking, I just tap-tap, and I'm there.

What's super cool is that the tablet came with some software! I haven't played around with it too much, but I feel totally cool 'signing' my name using the stylus. Leave it to me to love new technology that allows me to hand write!

Sick speechless

2010-01-27T20:28:00.000-08:00

I've been sick this week.

I am not good at the state of being unwell. Instead of lying around sipping Ginger Ale watching bad television, glad to have a break, I lament the chores I won't cross off my To-Do list and begrudge the sun for shining since I can't be out in the yard pruning the fruit trees or going for a run. But I'm trying to listen to my body, which this week has been screaming, "Your toddler has infected you with germs! Stay in bed! Drink more Pedialyte!"

I was relieved to have enough energy to tune in to the State of Union address. I streamed it on the laptop while the girls and I ate dinner. I figured it was educational, and therefore okay to have it on at the table (I grew up eating a lot of dinners in front of the TV, which is probably why now I insist we all sit down together without the TV, newspapers, books, etc. and actually converse with one another at meal times).

Emma got into it right away. She was interested in the crowd assembling, if Sasha and Malia would be there and what the President would say. A few minutes into the speech, as Obama discussed the difficulty that lie ahead, Emma emoted, "Wow. He's like Aslan."

As we sat there watching, I realized that I was also very sick during President Obama's Inaugural Speech last year. Doug had taken the girls to school because I was totally out of it, dragged me to the couch to watch the speech and put me back to bed when it was over. Is is just the time of year? That after the rush of the holiday season and Emma's birthday, my body finally gets permission to crash?

I'm not sure what it all means. But I did feel inspired by Obama's passion, his sense of humor and his ability to detach himself from the perceptions of his job performance. I love his message of hope.

I eventually got better after last year's illness, and I'll get better after this one. It seems that from Obama's speech, he's hoping our country can recover from the woes it's suffered. I guess listening to him speak is the best thing someone under the weather can do--to feel that at the very least, one person is the symbol of the resilience of our nation. If we can all hold on to the belief that we can rally (and really, anybody who's had the flu knows that once all that yucky stuff comes out, you do get better), and if we can rally together, then eventually we will all become stronger. Individually and as a whole.

Wow. I guess he really is like Aslan because I just compared having the flu with the state of our nation. Or I've had too much Pedialyte.

Rainy Day Sunday

2010-01-24T16:16:00.000-08:00

After getting chased away from downtown Ballard by the rain, we Kims came home with nothing but relaxation on our minds. Doug went in for a nap, Em retired to her room to devour the new books she got for her birthday, Phee had a book and bottle before her nap and I went down to the green room to sketch some ideas for a Valentine's Day card.

After a while Doug and Em came downstairs, anxious to work on the press Doug made me for Christmas. We experimented with a few leaves they brought in from the yard, as well as these textured foam puzzle mat pieces I failed to unload on craigslist. Emma really got into inking up the items to press. Ever the enterpriser, Doug used some wooden letters from one of Phee's alphabet puzzles to make a few cards with Emma's initials on them. We wanted to get a jump on 'Thank You' cards for friends who kindly thought of Emma on her special day, and these handmade cards will be just the right touch. Em is excited to do another run with varied textures or colors. She's also plotting to work her mixed media magic by incorporating a few collage elements.

I really love spending time together as a family, whether it's working on art projects, cooking or just throwing the ball around. Being the youngest of four, many of my most vivid and happiest moments are simply when my mom, my crazy brothers and I were together. We didn't have much money growing up, but we knew we always had each other-something I truly value today. It is so rewarding as a parent to be able to provide these moments for our kids. And for us, too.

A Place Nobody Dared To Go...And Perhaps Shouldn't Again

2010-01-24T00:37:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned earlier, I am a musical geek. For months I've been itching to go to New York to see a few shows - okay, mainly "Xanadu." So I was tickled when I saw the ads for the touring company, which performs the show at The Paramount Theater this weekend. I just got home from seeing it with my (newly sainted) husband, Doug.

I fell in love with the movie at around nine years old. I think I saw it in the theater while having a sleepover at Kimi Rodriguez's house and I was completely hooked. I loved Greek myths (my "D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths" was well-worn), I loved Olivia Newton-John, I loved Gene Kelly and I loved musicals. No brainer. (My apologies to the girls at my birthday party sleepover who sat through it, obviously bored while I hummed along happily).

I clearly recall getting the soundtrack as soon as possible and singing the songs for hours. I looked up "Kubla Khan" at the library using the first line reference index. And of course, I practiced roller skating endlessly. I cannot express how totally awesome I felt in my white boot skates with the blue flames. It only got better when my step-sister made me some blue ribbon barrettes to wear that matched!

The movie is ridiculous. It borders on hokey and just plain bad. But from the first moment Olivia Newton-John wiggles her fingers in the wall mural, coming alive, to Gene Kelly on roller skates, I'm sucked in. The soundtrack, featuring ONJ and ELO, is amazing. Poppy and upbeat to soft-rock ballad, combining ELO's synth-infused energy with ONJ's sweet voice was an inspiration. I don't have my 8-track anymore, but the vinyl is still easy listening.

I'd heard there was a new take on the musical for the stage production, which I researched a bit on the site and by listening to clips online. It was much more satirical and silly. Although I was prepared for this going into the theater, Doug said my face looked crestfallen for the first two or three songs. It picked up a bit in the middle and wrapped up with a cool pegasus ride and a fun, disco-ball finale. Keeping the show to 90 minutes without an intermission helped.

After years of loving the music and the film, I'm a bit underwhelmed by the production. I'm glad I got to see its evolution, but I prefer to stay wrapped up in those crazy leg-warmer fashions and hopelessly romantic songs. The movie will always hold my nine-year-old self within it. I am happy I can revisit her whenever I put the record back on the turntable.

On the Day You Were Born

2010-01-17T15:12:00.000-08:00

When I turned 16 my mother re-enacted the day I was born. Talking me through the entire episode from first contraction to delivery, she gave me an elaborate picture of how freaky and speedy delivering a child can be. Odd to me as I got older, she would re-enact my birth story every year on my birthday until I left home...or until she told my husband the entire thing after I was married.

It wasn't until I had children of my own that I realized just how important that birth story is to a parent. The day you bring another person into the world is an amazing one. For me, both times were scary and full of uncertainty. The experiences didn't go exactly as I planned, but they were miraculous nonetheless. And when we finally had our babes in arms, we were captivated by new life and completely bewildered by the fact that we had created them.

I've been musing about birth stories because my oldest daughter turned nine last week. It's been somewhat awkward for me. Nine is the age where I remember my body changing, my relationships becoming more complicated. I'd just found out I was moving from Hawaii to the Mainland. There was a lot of transition and change in my physical environment, my family life and my body. Though it looks like Emma's life will remain relatively the same during this year, much for her will change and I'm reticent about how to handle it myself, let alone guide her along.

One issue for certain is how to talk about sex. A good friend recommended the book, "It's So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families" by Robie H. Harris. I borrowed it from the library and sat with Emma to read it. She wanted to read it silently to herself while I read my own book, which frankly, was preferable to me. She would stop from time to time and go to a second book, then return to it again. At one point she even turned to me and asked, "Has Dad ever had what you would call..." (here she turned back to the book for reference), then said to me, "...a 'wet dream'?" Oh. My. God.

When we were expecting Phoebe we had a sort of mini "birds and bees" discussion with Emma. She has always been very pragmatic, very literal. When she asked how babies were made we kept it strictly to eggs and sperm: Women make an egg and men make sperm. They put their sperm together with the egg and that's how a baby grows. At age six, this was sufficient for her. As she read, "It's So Amazing!" at age eight, the only question she asked was if her Dad had ever had a wet dream. I told her he probably did have wet dreams, but that it was more common for young men to have them as their bodies grew. If she wanted to know for sure, she had to double check with Dad. And then I warned Doug immediately that he may have to make some pubescent confessions to his eight-year-old daughter.

We kept the book about a month, with me renewing it as long as I could, asking Emma repeatedly if she wanted to talk more about the book. Nothing. So the book went back to the library and I could breathe a bit more. That is, until my mother's gift came in the mail.

For gifts, Emma usually just asks for books. My mom called and Emma even had a few titles for her. Unable to find the exact titles Emma requested, my mother, (the birth story re-enacter from earlier in this post), improvised. All the way to the puberty section of the bookstore.

Along with a few chapter books came "The Care & Keeping of You: The Body Book for Girls," and
"The Girl's Body Book: Everything You Need to Know for Growing Up You." My mom had also sent stickers, a 'Girls' Feelings' journal and an electronic Rubik's Cube game.

If "It's So Amazing!" made me uneasy, these books took me straight to freaked out. Like my library book, there were illustrations accompanying the featured copy. There were matter-of-fact guidelines for the importance of hand washing, bodily cleanliness and dental care. But there were also illustrations showing a girl shaving her underarms, examining a pimple and...inserting a tampon. Red flag my uneasiness and there's a bull butting its horns at me.

As you may have guessed by now, my mother is very open. I don't really remember a time when I wasn't aware. Of sex or my body or the changes happening to me physically and emotionally. I remember being horribly embarrassed when my mother put me on the phone to tell my older brothers that I had gotten my period for the first time. But we all knew it would happen eventually and to their merit, they never let on if they were as mortified as I was that we were sharing this information.

I never thought I would be one of those parents who couldn't talk about sex with their kids. I'd like to think that from Emma's perspective, I've been perfectly frank with answers to the few questions she's had. I don't want to push too much information on her but I don't want her to get her information from the playground, either. As the weekend of her ninth birthday draws to a close, I've had to face my fears about this stage of her life--and mine. It was easy for me to see myself as a new mother. To have a baby whose hardest lessons were to learn how to eat, crawl, walk. To have a toddler who learns to wait their turn, to use their words, to use the toilet or brush their teeth. To have a child who learns to decipher letters in order to read and write, numbers in order to add and subtract. But I never saw this stage, or any thereafter, coming for me.

I no longer have a small child. I have a big kid now. She is sweet, naive, articulate, active, sulky, sensitive, shy, caring, loyal, intellectual, headstrong, individualistic. She is perfect. As she matures physically, emotionally, intellectually and yes, sexually, I want to do everything within my power to keep her that way. She deserves to be exactly who she is, without alteration from the outside world, especially from me.

I think I'm beginning to realize why my mother continued to re-enact my birth story each year on my birthday. She wanted to remember the tiny person that was born that day-and remind me that essentially, that is who I will always be. And for my dear Emma, I wish the same. Her birth was uncomplicated and steady. I didn't labor long. When she pushed forth into the world I felt surprised, but a kind of inevitable continuity despite her leaving my body. She is a steady rhythm, a faithful heart. And I wish that for her. Always.

Makin' It

2010-01-13T16:46:00.001-08:00

After fooling around a bit with the tabletop press that Doug made for me, here are a few results.

I'm pretty excited, since one of my favorite people in the world, my friend, Katie, is celebrating a birthday this week and I can send her something made on my press!

I started with a few leaves from our yard. The evergreen leaves were so fragrant when I pulled them off of the press! I wish I could bottle of little of it to spray on the finished product, just to send that sensibility along with the visual.

It felt completely decadent to have a couple of hours this afternoon--kid free--to play with the press. My home-made card and letter designs are usually pretty basic. This added texture will be a great feature to play with to mix it up.

Thanks, Doug!!

Merry Christmas, Baby

2010-01-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

I do realize Christmas has come and gone. But I finally used this fantastic present my husband made for me and I do have that over-excited-kid-ripping-open-the-wrapping-paper-and-going-bazonkers-with-that-new-toy feeling.

After taking a letterpress class last summer at Pratt with Lisa Hasegawa of Ilfant Press, I asked Doug to make a tabletop press. There's a cool instructional through ReadyMade magazine as well as Instructables, and he was game. But as many of you gals know, asking your honey to 'do,' doesn't always yield results. So imagine my shock and awe when come November he said yes, he was working on putting a press together.

He tweaked the plans a bit, combining the two. Since I want to use the press for basic print making, flower/leaf pressing and (if I'm ambitious) book making, I don't need anything complicated. As I play with it more, we might make some adjustments, but I'm thrilled that my partner in life actually made something for me-and that I, in turn, can make something for him--or somebody else.

Notice from the Seattle Public Library

2010-01-13T15:52:00.000-08:00

Those are some of the sweetest words to ever show up in my e-mail box.

I am an avid library goer. Back in the day I frequented the Thurman G. Casey library in Walnut Creek after school most days. It was in that library I discovered Robert Cormier, S.E. Hinton and Madeleine L'Engle, among others.

We usually go to our neighborhood library branch once a week, after our pilgrimage to the Ballard Farmer's Market on Sundays. But when I get an e-mail with the subject line, "Notice from the Seattle Public Library," I perk right up since it usually means one the books I have on hold has come in and is ready for me!

When I arrived today, not only did I find the book listed on the e-mail notice, but another book that the library hadn't even told me about yet (double bonus). The titles are:

Good Mail Day, A Primer for Making Eye-Popping Postal Art
by Jennie Hinchcliff and Carolee Gilligan Wheeler

Graphic Design, The New Basics
by Ellen Lupton and Jennifer Cole Phillips

Words could not describe the elation I felt finding those two gems on the holds shelf. I could feel my smile radiating off the spines of the books on the stacks as I meandered around the library, sending elegantly lovely cards and letters out into the world before I'd even cracked open the books. My fingers tingled as I fondled their covers.

It got even better when, after scanning my favorite art/design/craft section I found two other superstars:

The Crafter Culture Handbook
by Amy Spencer

Pattern Sourcebook: Nature, 250 Patterns for Projects and Designs
by Shigeki Nakamura

Huzzah! The rain is falling on this gray day, but my room with the bright green wall is buzzing. I can't wait to get started!!

Hired hand

2010-01-09T22:58:00.000-08:00

Just when I had accepted the fact that I wouldn't get the writing job, it's coming around again.

After thanking my potential employer for his time and telling him that I was more interested in writing than modeling, he came back with a specific number so I could "get in on some of the writing parts." I'm glad he's re-offering what he passed on last week, but now I'm just plain confused.

I've wondered if my quote was realistic, or if I got too pumped up with questions of "my worth" or "the worth of my time." But I honestly don't think I'd change how I handled these interactions. As a freelancer, dealing with an incessant amount of changing variables is probably the norm. It's good practice for me to have these situations arise, and very good practice to gauge what exactly I want from them. In the past, I would have said, "Yes!" to anything, stretching myself thin in order to cross off these 'busy-work' business items off my task list. I'm realizing now that I don't simply want to be busy. I want to feel balanced. And whether than means I'm getting as much as I give or simply learning enough to keep my footing solid for the next baby step, then so be it.

Practice....practice....practice.

The Face That Launched...

2010-01-05T23:12:00.000-08:00

I agonized over what to charge for a possible freelance writing gig and maybe I should have saved myself some time.

After discussing what I imagined would be a fair rate with colleagues and my (former editor) husband, giving myself permission to value myself at 30 cents a word, and sending my rate to the potential client, I was "respectfully declined."

However, instead of researching and writing content for an instructional booklet, was I interested in posing for its cover?

Huh?

I was (and am probably still) confused. I had not discussed modeling work with the client before. I answered his ad for a writer. During our face-to-face meeting, we spoke only of writing. And I was totally honest with him about having limited experience with this type of writing. I asked if he had any questions for me. I asked him about his comfort levels. I did not imagine mine would be so effected.

Naturally, I'm flattered. Somebody thinks I'm attractive enough to be on the cover of his book. Maybe even attractive enough to sell some of those books. But that same person doesn't seem to think I'm smart enough to write those books.

I thought about it most of the day. I thought about the opportunity at hand. At a time when people are looking for work, someone was offering me a job where all I had to do was smile. This was positive.

I also thought about working with someone whose expectations are unclear and unpredictable. When we met he did not talk about money. He wanted me to come up with a number and get back to him--which he refused and turned around to ask if I wanted to pose for a photograph. "Unpredictable" and "pose" are not words I like to associate when pondering a potential job offer. This is not positive.

So I guess I won't be a model anytime soon.

I'd much rather be a writer anyway.

Year-end Duties

2010-01-05T22:53:00.001-08:00

While most people tend to think about the year ahead after the rush of the December holidays, I like to tidy up the year behind.

Throughout the year I file receipts in this accordion-style folder. I've used larger folders with printed labels, paper sacks, paper clips, rubber bands-if there was a low-budget way of gathering receipts, I've used it. This handy plastic organizer has plenty of pockets for each of my categories (ie. "Gifts," "Car/Gas," "Dining out,") and I like that it's waterproof. (One reason why the paper sack idea didn't last too long in a damp basement)

We began this system so we could easily itemize my husband's work expenses, but it also became a convenient way in which to contain unruly receipts and organize them if we needed to return something.

The end of the year gives me a certain satisfaction as I put the last of the receipts in their places. It feels great to feel the heft of the folder, remembering a few exceptional meals we've had or a gift that was well received. Even those gas receipts seem happily contained and categorized for the year.

I haven't really made any New Year's resolutions or mapped out my To-Do list for the first quarter of 2010. I'm still wrapping up the loose ends from 2009, and that's just where I want to be.

I love a fresh start just as much as the next person. But I really love a tidy ending.

Three months, a blue moon and a job

2009-12-30T21:57:00.000-08:00

First of all, I know it's been over three months since I wrote anything on this blog. It's probably been more than three months since I wrote anything other than holiday cards (which got out late) and grocery lists (which don't work because I still go down every aisle and buy stuff I don't need anyway).

But as I sat down in my lovely work studio with the bright green wall, I noticed that the blogs I follow are BLOWING UP with photographs, witty words and handcrafted artwork. It is so inspiring to read about the projects friends are working on, or just to hear what fun and funky discussion topics are out there. So just like the blue moon shining out my window, I've decided to get back out there and actually write something.

Which brings me to an actual job meeting I had this afternoon. I think it went well, but it left me asking a lot of questions I've never dealt with before. I'm very new to freelancing and uncomfortable with pricing my work. Having been at jobs where an hourly rate was already established and raises determined by someone else's evaluation of my work, I admit to having no idea how to set a price to my time, abilities and work. I think it's also difficult for some people (perhaps women in general and me in particular?) to ask for substantial payment for their services. This is an entire framework I'm learning to navigate. I don't want to delve too deep into the psychology, but I definitely need to think about the valuable skill set I have to offer. Hopefully this experience - and the job - will create more confidence for me so that it will come more naturally.
It's not quite a feminist manifesto, but for me, it's a start.

Is Bigger Really Better?

2009-09-25T22:31:00.000-07:00

It started with our old TV.

We've had a TV in our room for a few months. It was an extra television from our time in California that we now use to watch movies on the built-in DVD player (We don't have cable upstairs). I don't really want a TV in the bedroom, but since our master bathroom is where we brush-n-bathe the kids, it's convenient to have one within earshot while I'm getting the other ready in the morning. It can be pretty cool to lie in bed watching a movie, too.

Now that Phoebe is taller, she can just reach the buttons on the TV sitting on our dresser. It juts out (since the back is enormous), so those buttons extending over the edge of the dresser are very tempting for her. I'm concerned that the thing will fall over onto her or Emma, so I recently suggested to Doug that we utilize some store credit at Video Only to get a small flat screen for that space.

Making a major purchase is difficult, but with one kid whining to leave and another taking every knee-high item off the shelves, we try to get in and out as soon as possible. But even couples without kids who find themselves going in to a store with a set item in mind may spend an extra 30 minutes negotiating in the aisles. We made it out of the store with a purchase we were both happy with (me: built-in DVD player, him: 19 inches with a wall mount) in just under an hour.

The TV was inoperable right out of the box. Turned it on and nothing. Doug returned it the following weekend while I was out for the day. I arrived home to find it not only mounted to the wall, but larger than the original at 27 inches. As impressed as I was to find my spouse so motivated, I wasn't happy that this model did not include a DVD player.

Doug reasoned that we watch a lot of Netflix Instant movies, so he figured trading size for DVD was a good call. He'd purchased a new cable and already had the laptop hooked up to the TV, which we could also use to play DVDs. My spouse had watched the kids, bought them new shoes for school, exchanged our TV, mounted it to the wall and gotten the necessary cables to make it work. I decided to give it a shot.

As the week went by, I found a few flaws in this arrangement: When our internet connection slowed, the movie did, too. Or stopped completely. When the laptop went to sleep, darkening the screen, the televsion went dark, too. Then one of us had to pop out of bed to tickle the touchpad. The picture on the television was often a mess of pixels because of the information transfer time from the laptop, through the cable, to the large screan display.

I tried to enjoy watching the TV, but I just couldn't. Doug felt awkward about exchanging another TV (plus paying a possible additional price for the DVD player), but we bit the bullet and did it. We had to get a different brand, but Doug got his size and I got my built-in DVD player. Doug hooked it up. We slid in a DVD. Grainy. The people looked sort of 3-D.

Neither of us could say it. We stepped back farther. We squinted. We played animated films, older DVDs, newer DVDs, Netflix Instant. Grainy. 3-D strange. Ironically, this was the first time we completely agreed that the TV had to go. The picture was fine, but we just could not reconcile how strange it looked to us. It was a picture preference, and we were lucky that we felt exactly the same about it.

Doug did not want to go back to Video Only. They'd been nice during each transaction, but their stock was limited and we felt we'd exhausted our efforts there. We considered returning it and keeping the credit until we wanted something else. Or getting something else entirely. Then Doug's parents called saying they needed help installing their cable converter box. Aha!

We gave the TV to Doug's parents. They don't care about the grainy-up-close-3-D-images. Doug installed it for them yesterday and they were thrilled. It felt great to do something for them.

But don't worry about us. We went to Costco-because if we hated any TV there, we could always return it for groceries. Or furniture. Or a playstructure. Or a car. But that wasn't necessary because we found a TV we both really like-with a built-in DVD player that can be wall mounted. All 32 inches of it.

Aren't all sounds musical?

2009-09-16T14:42:00.002-07:00

The other night I stumbled upon these "T Screen Test Films," which are short interviews of celebrities by The New York Times' Lynn Hirshberg. They were so short and sweetly addictive that we soon zipped through much of Season 1.

One tidbit I enjoyed - which seemed to happen with the earlier interviews instead of the later ones - was where they asked the celebs, "What Are Your Five Favorite Non-Musical Sounds?" A concept similar to the questionnaire James Lipton 'borrowed' from Bernard Pivot after the Proust Questionnaire for Inside the Actors Studio, I love hearing how the celebs answer. (Doug and I actually completed our own actors studio questionnaire years ago. It'd be funny to go back and find those!) But I had to ask, "Aren't all sounds musical?"

That aside, I went ahead and answered for myself. Here's my list:

1. My children laughing.

2. Doug using a whisk in a pan. I'm usually very sleepy when I hear him, whisking up a frothy milk for coffee or batter for pancakes.

3. My mother's voice calling me from another room, usually with irritation. I haven't heard this since I was younger and I hated it. Now, I really miss it. Maybe it's because I may never hear her in quite that way again.

4. Rain.

5. The needle on a record, just before the music starts. Kkkhhhrrrrrrrrhhhh.

What are your 5 favorite non-musical sounds?

I've got the music in me

2009-09-16T14:20:00.000-07:00

Hello, my name is Kale and I am a musical theater geek.

There, I said it.

I've loved musicals as long as I can remember. It's probably one of those nature + nurture things, since my mother's love of singing and musicals brought many a soundtrack into our home. My older brother has memories of my mother watching "Carousel" on TV and just bawling. I remember her taking me (very very underage) to see "All That Jazz" in the theater, covering my eyes or ears for most of it, but allowing me to watch the singing and dancing parts.

Doug is very patient with my obsession, taking me to see various musicals over the years. Last night he took me to see "Wicked" at the Paramount. I loved the book by Gregory Maguire. I was overwhelmed by the voices of the two lead actresses, and now I can't top watching clips of Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth on youtube. Which led me to get out my "Rent" CD, singing along with those old favorites, and now I'm hunting down my "Xanadu" record to blast Olivia Newton-John and ELO until my voice is hoarse.

Family Bumber

2009-09-12T23:07:00.000-07:00

Monday, the final day of Bumbershoot, was our Family Day at the festival. Kids in tow, we met up with another family (our longtime pals, Max and Ellen) for a more family-balanced approach to Bumbershoot.

We caught the Films for Families, which featured a couple of local filmmakers, then sprinted over to see Recess Monkey and check out the art featured in the Northwest Rooms. The Drawing Jam turned out to be a happy surprise--the large room featured art supplies, (clothed) artist models to draw or paint, a paper-clad wall where festival goers could make their mark, a clay-making area and a block printing area. We spent quite a bit of time there, enjoying the soft music played by live musicians while we drew or sketched. I really enjoyed watching Emma take some time to make pieces she was proud of. It felt good to have quality time with her amidst the clamor of the festival.

Max and Emma engaged in one the art exhibits where you were asked to go into one of the "pods" on display to clear your mind and think of a solitary thought. You were then supposed to tell your thought to the "silent scribe" (the artist), who wrote your thought on a shrinky dink plastic disc with a stamped design, shrunk it in a convection oven, and tied it on a ribbon so you could "take your thought with you." What an amazing way to interact with the art on display, talk with the artist and learn something about yourself. I was especially impressed that our eight-year-olds took on the task...and were thrilled with their results. Emma's thought was "Chances" and Max's was "Annakin."

The kids also got a kick out of an installation piece, which was a huge teeter-totter that went up and down, but also rotated 360 degrees while doing so. Their weight was so even that a few times they spun around slowly, completely even with one another. So so cool.

We braved the rain for most of the morning, but amazingly, for Black Eyed Peas, the sun came out and it was hot at Memorial Stadium. Their set was so upbeat and fun, though Emma decided this was the time to sit down and read "Grimm's Fairy Tales." At one point both of my girls were sitting down while Doug and I jumped around like crazy children.

We caught a couple of other acts, ate some and bought a poster from the Flatstock poster sale. By that time I was pretty exhausted from my three day of festival fun. My feet hurt, we were getting cranky and we were soaked. A new Kim Family tradition? Maybe. We have all year to plan for the next one.

Bumberlovin'

2009-09-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

Doug and I went to Bumbershoot, a fantastic arts and music festival held every Labor Day weekend in Seattle. In the past, Doug had to cover the event when he worked for The Seattle Times. Finally, we could go as regular joes, but this time there was a catch: We had to take the kids.

My previous Bumbershoot experiences consisted of spending the days wandering around checking out the events, then touching base with Doug while he covered the weekend's lineup. If we saw an event together, he usually took notes then ran off to consult with a reporter halfway through it. I was so excited to spend time with him at the festival that I had some difficulty finding a positive space in my mind to take the kids with us. But all in all, the kids did well, Doug took a hit for me and watched the kids all day Sunday while I met friends at Bumbershoot and we did have some great family time together on the final day.

Saturday we started out with Katy Perry, which was a blast mainly because Phoebe really digs the song, "Hot and Cold." I loved watching her face as she heard the music, then realized we were watching someone perform the music versus just watching the video online. She and Em also loved chasing the large inflatable balls bouncing around the arena.
We caught Mayer Hawthorne, where we ran into our pals, Marc and Tina. We ate roasted corn on the cob, supplementing our salmon sandwiches I packed. We hit the Center House where there were fun crafts to do, musical instruments to try courtesy of Soundbridge and an awesome gymnastics area for the kids to jump out some energy. Emma hit the arcade for rides and games, which appeased her somewhat. Our final performance of the day was Eric Hutchinson, who was fun and upbeat. (if you're online, you should totally check out his acoustic version of "My Girl/Ignition.")

Sunday was a huge bonus day for me. I met up with Marc and Tina (sans familia) at Memorial Stadium for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Karen O was on fire, dressed up in this wacky tassle/fringe/biker jacket ensemble. Tina and I ditched out a little early to catch S.E. Hinton, the author of "The Outsiders." She was frank and funny, with some revealing insights about the stars of the films based on her books. (On Nicholas Cage: "He is strange." On Mickey Rourke: "He was a pill. That's a nice way of saying he was an asshole.")
Other highlights from that day were the Flatstock poster sale area, making a book at the Seattle Center for Book Arts booth, hearing my favorite song from United States of Electronica, Michael Franti and Spearhead and Jason Mraz. We really did turn it out for Michael Franti, I have to say. It felt amazing to just jump around screaming while my bulky backpack bounced up and down. I loved every second of every song. Absolutely loved it.

The ride home was funny-for some reason we started singing, "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. And we did it all. The barenarenahnarenahnare guitars, the piano riffs, the backup vocal sections, even the crazy screamin' Steve Perry vocals. Pretty embarrassing that between the five of us in the car, we could pull out the entire song. But pretty damn awesome, too!

It's rough for vegans

2009-09-03T13:44:00.000-07:00

Doug and I decided to improve our diets by eliminating sugar and coffee. I'm trying not to have too much dairy. Turns out it's much harder than one would think.

The coffee part is okay, since we're avid tea drinkers, but I do miss the smell and taste of coffee. I'm also having trouble finding a warm, nursing drink with a little body and a little sweetness that doesn't have much caffeine in it. Or milk.

For the last couple of days I've been experimenting to find a warm get-up drink for the mornings with a sweetener other than sugar. De-caf coffee with light molasses is just bad. Black tea with molasses a bit more bearable. Coffee with chickory and molasses was horrible. Green tea tastes good and keeps me going, but I want it to be a little thicker somehow. Chai with rice milk was the best by far. Black tea with honey has been a longtime favorite of mine, but for every one cup of coffee with milk and sugar, I want three cups of black tea with honey. It makes me wonder if I should just hit the coffee with sugar and milk and be okay with it. Unfortunately, my body doesn't dig it on a regular basis, so maybe I'll have to alternate somewhat.

As for meals, we've been pretty good about greens/veggies or grains at every meal. Now that we're in the sweetest part of the season when summer fruits are just as plentiful as the fall offerings, we're enjoying fresh corn, peaches, chard, kale, beets, carrots and looking forward to the leeks popping up, squash and seemingly endless potatoes. Getting all these healthy yummies into the bellies of our little people is proving much harder, but at least we're trying to offer it all to them.

The air is cooler, the rain coming faster. We're changing over into another season. School is beginning. I'm ready to start something new myself, but having trouble getting into gear. My bramble of creativity is still atangle inside, my go-go juice is to be determined and I'm trying to gather energy to unravel it all into a cohesive something.

Yeah WAAYYY! Wayzgoose!

2009-08-31T15:22:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-31T14:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-21T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

Hit It

2009-08-20T14:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T14:27:00.000-07:00

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'

2009-08-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-08-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T11:52:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-15T00:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-15T00:02:00.000-07:00

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

"Bluebirds in the bluebells..."

2009-08-13T23:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-13T22:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-13T16:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-10T18:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-10T14:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-03T21:36:00.000-07:00

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.

An Ounce of Prevention

2009-07-31T22:16:00.001-07:00

I bought these cute water bottles for the girls at Uwajimaya today in an attempt to offset the spillage that occurs in our home, our car, our bed, on my clothing, in my shoes...you get the idea. We've recycled Emma's toddler bottles so now they're Phoebe's, which may be the flaw right there. I would love to get feedback from other Moms on how NOT to cry over spilled milk because for the life of me I can't seem to get rid of the smell or the stains milk leaves behind.

Anyway, back to the water bottles.

I thought, with the retractable straw, the liquid would be more easily contained than a regular sippy or bottle. Turns out a determined toddler will shake and twist the liquid out of anything. Not a minute after I filled Phee's bottle with water and sat her down at the table did she have the thing upside down, shaking it while squeezing the straw so more would come out. This would have been less damaging to me and the wood table and floor if I, lost in confidence that this would work, had not turned around and gone back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

All in all, no real damage has come of the spilled liquids. You just get that with kids. But I still can't get the smell of spoiled milk out of my nose.

p.s. The purple one is Pochacco (for Phoebe, natch, the dog lover) and the Hello Kitty is for Emma.

Cool It

2009-07-29T17:54:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to post a picture of Emma and Phoebe keeping cool. It makes me feel less sticky. Just the tiniest bit.

Slurpees, Part II

2009-07-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

Emma is at a musical theater camp this week and next. As many dancers know, a dance studio can be excruciating in the summer--the sweaty bodies emitting heat that lingers, fogs mirrors and stinks up the room. Yesterday Em asked for a Slurpee, which, after her cajoling, we found across the street from the dance studio at the 7-11. I sort of regretted it later because she had eaten only the sweet treats in her lunch while her luncheon meat and cheese combo went bad and stinky in her lunchbox (which she also left in the living room, half tucked under the couch).

Today I didn't even ask if she'd finished her healthy food first; I asked her how her day was and we marched straight across the blistering pavement to the 7-11. And I bought another one for Phoebe and I to share when we got her, too. According to Yahoo, it was 102 degrees in Seattle when I picked up Phoebe at her daycare around 4:30 p.m. The weather report on my iPhone (provided by Yahoo) says it is now 103 degrees. It's 5:37.

I'm lucky we have a great basement to hang out in and keep cool. But I'm really not used to this here in Seattle. How are you all doing? What have you done to comfort yourself during our heat wave? (Me: Iced Mocha from the Firehouse in Ballard, Slurpee, basement, watching old "Lost" episodes online)

Tybecast

2009-07-29T11:12:00.000-07:00

No, that's not a typo above. Actually, it is, but not because I don't know my right pinkie finger from by left pointer.

Last night I took my first class in Letterpress, an extremely intricate art form that I've long admired. The teacher, Lisa Hasegawa, gave us a ton of information and led us through "setting the type" for the first time in the course. We were to choose a type case that did not have a label and make one. As you might guess from the picture above and my type-oh-oh, I had '18 pt. Garamond Light.'

I was worried about placing the letters in reverse order before I got to class, but Lisa explained how the type has little cuts in it to help us. All the cuts go on the top. No sweat, I did that. But I didn't realize that there were b's in the d tray, and lo, there's my 'Garamonb.'

My mistake aside, I really enjoyed the class. It's been a long time since I learned something completely and utterly new, and I forgot how difficult that is. And how much I've craved it. We set type, saw how Lisa locked it down, then inked and ran the press. The word 'impression' has a new dimension for me now, as I run my fingers along the card with our printed type.

Next week we'll start designing our project. I've started collected ideas for what to print-it's so exciting!

You can see more about Lisa and her work here.

Hot Hot Heat

2009-07-28T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've always said summer is the best kept secret about Seattle. Sunny but not too hot, blazing sunsets and cool evenings. But this year spring came on strong (30+ days without precipitation in April/May) and now we're experiencing an incredible heat wave. Living in California, 90-100 degree weather was more common, but Seattle rarely sees the mercury climb above 90 and here we are, having a week of it. Today and tomorrow have the highest forecast numbers at 95 degrees.

Our garden is wilting, our grass completely brown. We spend the afternoons in the cool comfort of our basement. And after a couple of appointments today, that is where you'll find me as I continue to get "the green room" into shape.

A Pressing Matter

2009-07-27T22:45:00.001-07:00

(image from http://sourcedesign.com/)

After we returned from the Knight Fellowship reunion, I had some nervous energy.

I thought about getting a tattoo, learning to play the drums, taking writing classes. I immediately went online to figure out what interesting hobby I could take up. As I surfed around, I realized what had happened: I was back to real life.

Exposed again to the grandeur of the Stanford campus, talking to fellow Fellows, catching up with old friends, expanding my online social network, listening to professors profess and educators educate, I was mentally and emotionally stimulated. Coming home, as wonderful as it was, became a bit of a letdown. I think I was a little bored.

I've wanted to take a Letterpress class for some time. As fate would have it, a class started in just two weeks at Pratt Fine Arts Center. I didn't even think twice-I just booked it.

The class runs for five weeks. The School of Visual Concepts, where I took a Photoshop class last year, offers a 10 week class, but I decided to start easy. My first class is tomorrow night and I'm exhilarated. A bit excited, a bit nervous, but happy to start feeding my brain in a new way. Will I be the oldest person there? Will I fail to place the letters backwards? Can I get some extra studio practice? I'm all a-tingle thinking about this new adventure, this new pathway I'm laying in my brain.

Press on!

Now serving # 565

2009-07-16T22:58:00.000-07:00

565 was my number at the pharmacy today. I went to the doctor for a physical, towing both of my kids. I knew it would be awkward, but my physician is so great (and a mother of three herself), she suggested to my older daughter (who is eight) that Mommy might need privacy and would she mind waiting just outside the door with her book? My one-year-old stayed in the exam room, which was fine, but the experience convinced me I have to start a list of things I've done while my kid is in my lap. I thought getting my bangs trimmed with her in my lap was odd, but you really haven't experienced odd until you are lying on an examination table getting a pelvic exam while your toddler is squirming in your arms, scribbling with a pen and pad of paper.

That strangeness aside, I was unprepared to have my private-and-very-female-prescriptions filled by a cute, young - male - pharmacist.

I have been married 13 years. I have two kids. Being somewhat secure in my marriage, I don't go around flirting with other men. But, I would like to be seen as somewhat attractive to members of the opposite sex. This does not usually entail having one of them talk to me about spermicidal jelly applicators or how to use my diaphragm. These situations call for the Mr. Gower type in "It's a Wonderful Life" or Tina Fey as your tough but understanding teacher type from "Mean Girls." It was hard enough to ask my eight-year-old to leave the room so I could talk to my doctor about birth control, but to have some cute, funny 30-something pharmacist explain the effects of my Estrogen creme, well, I have to admit I was unprepared for this milestone in my life.

Welcome to the other side of 35, Kale.

Click on It

2009-07-16T22:33:00.001-07:00

An unexpected yet interesting portion of the Knight reunion was meeting a couple of Fellows who were yet to go through the fellowship year. One of them, Krissy Clark, talked to the group about her upcoming project regarding "geomapping." It's basically linking information about places so you can get not only the factual information about a locale, but personal histories and insights as well. I love the idea of tying in the emotional and human ties to a place; usually we're so caught up in the statistics that we forget a place has a life partly because of the lives around it.

The concept reminded me of a reading I heard by Jorie Graham where she discussed her obsession with imagining a literal timeline of a place. That when she sits in one given spot, she tries to imagine what happened in that exact spot five minutes ago. Or five years, or 50 years, or 500 years or even 5,000 years ago. As I sit on my couch writing this I think about gold miners and loggers, Native Americans, Spaniards and even bears and salmon that may have existed in this very spot. Journalists are very concerned with storytelling. The milestones of our lives are often richer stories because of the unusual links we attach to them. I like thinking about those attachments through voice or time. I like thinking that a journalist would remember this, too.

Good luck, Krissy-I'm excited to see how your project rounds out!

What's Behind Door #3?

2009-07-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

The second day of reunion sessions was informational yet surprisingly fun and amusing. Luis Fraga, a former professor at Stanford who now works at the University of Washington, spoke on race relations-specifically about our country's readiness for candidates like Barack Obama and Sonia Sotomayor. In addition to his position as a political science professor, he is also Director of the Diversity Research Institute on campus.

Some of the assertions he made based on his extensive research was unnerving, such as slavery's importance to the way our nation is shaped today. (Probably true, but our presuppositions about even talking about slavery in other terms besides 'horrific' and 'wrong' are difficult to wade through) His candidness paired with a lively sense of humor made the presentation fascinating yet easy to stick to. A Powerpoint presentation can be stimulating (though some people may doubt that) and Fraga's ability to engage with the audience on a tough topic helped move his visuals along nicely. He is intelligent, charming and definitely someone we need right now. The race issue is so huge, so intimidating, so powerful--I'm glad to have someone of his abilities on the front lines to help us make sense of it all.

The second presentation was given by Baba Shiv, a professor with the Graduate School of Business. His talk, entitled, "The Frinky Science of the Human Mind" delved into how emotions influence our decision making. Most of us came away from his discussion with this in mind: Arranged marriage is the way to go.

Shiv has done research on "simultaneous" decision-making vs. "sequential" decision-making. And guess what? Turn out that more people were satisfied with their choice when they had all of the options in front of them, decided and moved on with their lives. So, if you have three potential mates, for example, you'd be better off choosing one of them, marrying them and moving on to whatever else you need to decide upon, like paint colors for your newly shared apartment. But those people who date one person at a time are more likely to have unresolved issues with their choice-perhaps thinking that the next candidate will be better.

Unfortunately for most of us, we tend to engage with potential significant others on a one-to-one basis. We date one person, that works or doesn't, and we go on to date another person. Maybe our ancestors had the right idea. The yenta, the matchmaker. And now the girlfriend who hosts the cast-off party or even speed dating--maybe we should decide on our life partner the same way we would the fish at the fish market: Line 'em all up and see which one is the least stinky.

But for me, what's at the crux of all this is the choosing part. It's interesting to think about the energy we put into our choices, from a potential partner to a pair of pants. I think of the line from "Soak Up the Sun" by Sheryl Crow, "It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got." And if my life partner is reading this somewhere, don't worry--after all these years, I still want and choose you. :)

Rodin and the '78s

2009-07-15T21:18:00.000-07:00

Friday evening's reception took place at the Rodin Sculpture Garden at the Cantor Arts Center at Stanford. Among the sculptures displayed are The Three Shades, Adam, Eve and The Gates of Hell.

During our fellowship year we spent a lot time in the sculpture garden. Granted, lots of people spend time in front of The Gates of Hell pondering each small figure and what they represent. Others run to the library to grab Dante's Inferno. For me, it was the idea that world-renowned artworks could be present on a college campus. My college, UC Davis, had artwork, but I do not recall a Rodin on premises. Let alone an entire sculpture garden's worth.

In this gorgeous setting I gave Doug and myself a task: To meet Fellows we weren't acquainted with from other years. We were so pleased to be with our fellow Fellows that we'd ignored the other fantastic people gathered for the reunion. So we turned to a few older Fellows and chatted them up, discovering they were at Stanford in 1978. The only four people to attend from their year, they were lively, fun and engaging. One of them had a son who would be going to seminary school in Seattle, so he had a lot of questions for us about the area, which led to questions about faith and you can probably guess there was no lull in the conversation after that. The experience reinforced for us how special the Knight Fellowship year is-and how long those memories last.

A side note about the evening: Our dinner was catered by CoolEatz, the brainchild of Jesse Cool. As a group, our fellowship class toured her home and organic garden while she talked with us about her mission (Fresh, organically raised foods; compostable take-away containers and eating utensils; her water-saving toilets). Doug, Justine and I ate dinner at her Flea St. Cafe, which was amazing, though I could not tell you what we ate. This time our dinner consisted of a crazy-delicious cold pea soup with mint and herb-crusted halibut. I know there was a dessert, but I can't remember what it was. I could have eaten three more bowls of that soup.

Tweet me? Tweet you!

2009-07-15T15:38:00.001-07:00

I walked into the first session, "The Future of Journalism: Where We've Been, Where We're Going," about 20 minutes late. Leonard Downie, VP At Large with The Washington Post, was at the podium presenting.

It felt a lot like a laundry list of options for how papers could make it given the economy and transition journalism is going through. He talked about non-profit and low-profit possibilities. He talked about a lot of other stuff I'm sure, but I was distracted by the fact that he read from his printed speech at the podium. I wanted to be more involved with him and his presentation, but I could not see his entire face, as it was tilted downward toward his paper.

I decided to check in with technology. There had been a social networking session the previous day for pre-registrants who wanted info on Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn (Justine and Patricia had attended) and I wanted to see if anyone was posting. Turns out a couple of people were! I'd read postings "covering" events via Twitter, but I'd never been at the event being covered. It was a little surreal to hear the speaker then watch tweet post referring to the speaker by his @name. The '@' will be the new quotation mark. So bizarre.

After 'following' the other tweeters and looking up their professional info, it felt strange to connect with a journalist this way. We read stories, make connections to reporters through their bylines or columns and get a sense of their voices over time. 140 characters or less (usually with the speaker's @name and #hashmarks added so that means way less than 140 characters) doesn't give you a lot of time to hear the voice of the reporter. For one guy posting, he didn't even have his news organization posted on his profile. It really felt removed from journalism, and there are those who would argue for and against the idea that tweets are journalism, but I could appreciate that I was a member of an audience and through Twitter I could communicate with another member about what we're listening to in real time. In a minute or two I could post a comment about what was just said. Those in the room of 100-150 people who were following me via laptop or cellphone could get that comment, then turn around and respond, argue, refer or agree (and ReTweet!) with me. It was almost as good as leaning to my friend to whisper some comment, but this time I whispering it to the audience-and beyond.

Another perk to adding these communication tools to the sessions was connecting socially with other posters. I made professional connections online, then face-to-face connections when I sought them out afterwards. See that, journalism? We're transitioning, and it's not all bad.

Taxi!

2009-07-15T14:34:00.000-07:00

Getting to the first session was a bit complicated. The Fellowship office arranged for Stanford shuttle buses (the Marguerite) to take us from the hotel to campus with additional routes for parents taking their kids to the daycare facilities. Because I have two kids with a large age gap between them I had to go to two different areas-one for Emma at the bigger kids' Sports Camp at the Old Union and another for younger kids like Phoebe, who was at the graduate school childcare facility. Doug hooked up with some Fellows for golf that morning, so here I was, Mother Hubbard, schlepping my backpack, Phee's diaper bag, Emma's bag with her swimsuit, etc., onto the shuttle.

Clifford, our shuttle driver, was just lovely. And Amy, an administrative assistant in the Fellowship office, was also on hand to help out. We went with the other families to the big kid site, got out to sign Emma in, got back on the shuttle, drove to Phoebe's daycare, got out to sign her in and get her acquainted with the caregivers, got back on the shuttle and finally drove to the auditorium where the first session was being held. It felt a little like my regular life, getting kids ready and taxi-ing them all over town, but at least I didn't have to drive.

I didn't really mind doing all of this alone since there wasn't much pressure to be on time, but it would have been great to have the girls at the same location. I missed Doug, too, but chatting with Clifford and Amy helped make it fun. Having built-in childcare for an event isn't the norm, so I wasn't about to complain since the Fellowship was taking care of families. All in all, Emma was happy to make friends with the other kids while playing sports and Phoebe seemed to enjoy the crafts her caregivers helped her make.