Drought (A Poem)

Wriggling toes on parched earth,
I look to Heaven.

Pollen flies loose
Go ahead. Blow, hot wind!

Your useless reprieve.

Seeking bees,
Beneath the surface I scratch at table tops
Yielding fruitless harvests.

Lick cracked lips.

Balance calls...

Bow!

Accept!
Own!
This is life's path!

But in the face of shining stone,
The human solution is death.

What's so special about Santa Barbara?

This post is part of the #OpenBook Blog Hop where readers get the chance to learn a little more about authors. This week's theme is what is special about where you live. Enjoy!

A Santa Barbara sunset #nofilter

I live in a magical place. Mythical. Wondrous. Exceptional. These are all words that describe Santa Barbara County (and it is why I reference it in the Khloe Alwell series). I couldn't pick just one thing that makes Santa Barbara County unique or special, so I made a list:

1. Santa Barbara is one place in the world where the coastline runs from east to west. The mountains are to the north, while the ocean is to the south. This means both sunsets and sunrises are over water.
2. You know you're in Santa Barbara because of the flowers. Even amid the worst drought ever, flowers continue to blossom. Not just Yucca or mustard, but ice plant, trumpet flowers, jasmine, poppies, and bougainvillea are common sights.
3. Celebrities are common citizens. As in, everyone who lives in SB County has a "celebrity story." Maybe Jeff Bridges served you soup at a charity event, or you got a shot poured by Michael Jordan on State Street. Maybe Kenny Loggins sang the national anthem at your kid's little league game.
4. To be perfectly politically incorrect and blunt, an SB 10 is like a 20 on everyone else's scale. Hanging out with an SB 7 is like hanging out with a Phoenix 10+. As a rule the scenery is, ahem, spectacular.
5. I can walk to several wine-tasting rooms from my house. And they are all drinkable, with several that are exceptional. There are hundreds of wine-tasting rooms in SB County. If you like old-world high-tannin style, you can get that. If you like new-world fruit-forward, that is here in abundance. And just like they say in Sideways, the pinots are, well, get some pinot!
6. Cowboys, hippies, and Hollywood types all live in peace here, and often attend the same events. Somehow. Miraculously.
7. Produce here is amazing. Despite the drought. Organic fruit and veggies fresh from the farm down the road are available at different farmers' markets throughout the county. My personal favs are all the berries, white peaches, and avocados.
8. Even though pretty much everything here is more expensive (it is one of the top real estate markets in the country), you can still get delicious $1.00 tacos every Tuesday at most neighborhood Mexican restaurants.
9. The courthouse is worth sitting in with a latte. Seriously. It is beautiful, complete with sunken gardens, Spanish tiles, and spectacular murals.
10. The mission is gorgeous, no matter how you feel about the Catholic church - you have to give it to them. They know decor. Santa Barbara's is called the "Queen of the Missions" for a reason.

Have you had a Santa Barbara experience? Something you would add to the list? Leave a comment below!

Also, if you want a good beach read involving romance and motorcycles (of course!) check out P.J. Fiala's book Dog Days of Summer!
  

The House, The City: The Crunchy Hipster Dream

Mom, Dad, Baby & kitty? (wikipedia)

Lately Christian and I have been thinking a lot about where we want to go and how we want to live. It's a question that colors our thoughts daily especially as we've been living with my parents since late October. I love my parents and I love having our family close to them and to my in-laws - especially for our baby's sake; but it's also increased some stress levels for everyone (Yesterday I actually saw lights, my blood pressure spiked so high - not good!).

We have to decide where we want to go long term and how we want to live when we get there. In short, we have to have plans (seeing a trend with me these days?).

Because of Christian's job situation and me being at home, writing with our baby, Southern California (or rather California generally) hasn't really been very hospitable. California has 13 of the top 15 most unaffordable real estate markets in the country. Several of them were areas where we have lived because that's where the jobs were. The others in the state that had work for Christian had something else really unappealing (like horrible air quality or ridiculously high temperatures and no water ANYWHERE). Plus, there are some cultural things in Southern California that we're not interested in having our children exposed to.

Needless to say, California really doesn't feel like a place we can stay without increasing our stress levels enormously. But I also don't want our kids to be far from family...

That means the west coast is the best coast (though I wouldn't mind being back east, I think that wouldn't sit well with either set of grandparents). So where can we go and feel good (financially and otherwise) in the west?

Well seeing as we eat salad and recycle, and think brown people should have rights we can't move anywhere in Arizona (crossed off list). Nevada feels like the same kind of situation, if a little more...uh...seedy organized crime and less vigilante. Idaho...has some possibilities, but it's also pretty conservative politically and I'd rather not live anywhere where accidental eavesdropping could make Christian get into a brawl.

So...that leaves Oregon and Washington.

I love seasons. I love snow (especially when I can cross-country ski in it). I love apples and wool sweaters and fireplaces. I'm not a huge fan of gray, BUT if I have some awesome things to focus on, I can love a place despite gray. Christian hasn't lived in snow, or seasons, but he hates heat. He's a sweatball, and our son takes after him, so I think snow and rain is a better choice for our family than dirt and 120 F.

Plus, we have some friends up there, which is appealing to both of us.

We've played around with different locations and researched things and so far our top two choices are Bellingham WA and Corvalis OR. The question is when and how.

At this point we're thinking around a year and a half from now, or something like that will be a good time to move. This will give us some time to pay off our educational loans (or at least pay them down) and create a nest egg of sorts. Right now that nest egg could be either a micro house on a trailer base (a serious interest for both Christian and me), or a savings account for moving/down payment, or both (ideally both, but we may be able to swing things with one or the other).

If we can pull this off, we'll be in really good shape. We'll have a mountain of debt off our shoulders. We'll own our home (if not the land it's on...yet) and we'll be in our dream location (at least for this part of life). We're focusing on it, which means it will happen, for sure, right? :-D

New Yorker in a Strange Land - The Case of the Cornmeal Crust

Seriously.

Cornmeal crust.  

That just happened at a place in Alameda - which shall remain nameless.

What is wrong with people?!

I am a pizza snob. I know this. I've been informed by many other people of this. It's so bad sometimes my husband is afraid to take me to pizza places because he knows we may never return. Thankfully I have slowly converted him to loving New York style.

Pizza is a deceptively simple thing to make. People think it's no big deal - cheese, sauce, dough, and toppings. What can go wrong? Well, everything dear Watson - absolutely everything.

If the cheese is poor quality, it won't melt correctly. If it's not mozzarella, it will taste strangely. Cheese should have a little grease form on the top. A good East Coast pizza will even have added olive oil to enhance the greasy goodness.

The sauce should have the right balance between herbs and spices and the tomato base. If there is too little, the pizza is dry. If there is too much, it begins to be California style or possibly a poor attempt at Chicago.

The dough, however, is a completely different story. Dough is an indication of geography, and certain preferences. If a pizza is to be a genuine New York style pizza, the pie should be large and dough should be hand tossed. This method is what makes the center of the pie incredibly thin while the crust is large and bubbly. If the yeast is right, the crust should be crunchy, while the inside melts in your mouth. The center should be so thin, it becomes necessary to fold your pizza twice in order to support the cheese, sauce, and any toppings. Literally, the center should come apart.

Anything less is not New York style pizza. People who claim something different is New York are either a) morons, b) delusional, or c) lying.

I am just about convinced that I need to start making pizza myself. I know if I decide to begin this adventure, it will be wrought with failed attempts. I will become frazzled, frustrated, and possibly fat from blobs of dough. I might even get dough stuck on my ceiling as I toss it. I don't know. It remains to be seen. If I do decide to embark on this venture, you will know it. I'll document every aspect. It's too good to pass up.

Accidents - When Impalas and Proteges Collide

Poor Protege!

I had never been in a real car accident until today. Before today, I had been bumped so that my then Volvo tank didn't get a scratch. I had even been in a situation where my friend was driving and his tire was popped. We stood in the rain while he put on the spare. But today I was in a real accident, one that did damage.

And thankfully, this time, it was the other guy's fault.

I have always been a big proponent of being careful on the road. I always double check my blind spot. I use my blinkers. I anticipate where other drivers will be on the road at least several seconds in front of me. I scan my mirrors. In many ways, I'm a textbook driver (Well, I did say in many ways!). So I watched with horror as I completed my U-turn, or attempted to this morning, as the other driver failed to look where he was going. In fact, his head was turned a completely different direction.

It seems strange to me that I should go through life in many places with horrible traffic, and yet the first time I am in a real accident, it's in a place like Bakersfield. I mean, I survived 9 months in the Bay Area, where driving is a contact sport and frankly death defying! I even lived in Phoenix, escaping the oblivious Toyota driving snow-birds and the gun-toting alcoholic Ford drivers. I even survived living in Santa Barbara and driving through Montecito where drivers assume they are entitled to go whenever and wherever they want. 

The saddest thing is the damage may be enough to total the car. This is in part because the car is a 2003 model and damage this extensive will likely total the vehicle. So I guess I'm going to have to go car shopping? *sigh*

CALM - Adventures in Bako

Black Bears at CALM

This past Saturday I got the chance to visit the California Living Museum in north Bakersfield. It happened to be the same time as their special event, "Boo at the Zoo." This meant the place was swarming with children dressed as pirates, witches, fairies, and superheros. In the green spaces there were games where children could win candy. Professional face-painting was available as well as a number of different food vendors.

Beyond the special event however, CALM (as it is affectionately known) is a great place. It's filled with native wildlife from all over California, complete with a reptile house, small mammals, foxes, bears, and birds of prey. This isn't to mention the large cats.

I had no idea there were so many different kinds of snakes in California alone. I should have known, I guess, except I'm not very curious about reptiles usually and I certainly don't think about them on a regular basis. Even though I wouldn't consider myself a snake person, many of the animals were incredibly beautiful with their colorful glistening scales and their perfectly camouflaged bodies.

Along with the reptiles were small mammals. It was the first time I had seen a desert rat up close. Frankly they're much cuter than regular rats, even with the scaly tails. In other enclosures porcupines and skunks slept sweetly reminding me of animals that have been close to me (Specifically I think of my cat. Is it weird that I compare wild animals to my pet cat?). Unfortunately most of the animals on display were nocturnal, so the majority of the animals were asleep.

With the bears it was humorous. The two black bears were sleeping at the edge of their enclosure - one of them was on his back. This one's legs were splayed, his mouth hanging open, and every so often his jaw would shake or clench like he was in the middle of a food dream.

Mountain Lion at CALM

While there were other animals there - all of them interesting and stunning, including the regal birds of prey - none compared to the awesome power of the great cats. At the cat enclosure, the bobcats and the mountain lions were being fed. Because of "Boo at the Zoo" they were being fed their regular meals encased in jack-o-lanterns. The small bobcats marched around their space happily gnawing on bits of flesh. Meanwhile, the mountain lions were exploding their jack-o-lanterns filled with meat.

CALM isn't the biggest zoo, but it's a good size with good exhibits that is a great place to take your family (or just because). It has interesting animals and has fun events for children (did I forget to mention it has a train?). If you're in Bakersfield and have a free afternoon, the California Living Museum is definitely a place you want to check out.

Inside Out - Identity, Culture, and Books in Bako

You can be an outsider and welcomed in. They're not mutually exclusive things. Often I feel like that, actually, more often I just feel outside.

But not in Bakersfield.

Honestly, I am a strange bird in Bakersfield. I'm a progressive Christian who drinks wine, rides on the back of motorcycles, paints, listens to hiphop AND folk music, and writes genre fiction. Even though my clothes are all a few years old, they're generally good quality stuff. You can't find organic cotton khakis everywhere...

It's no wonder the land of oil fields, Buck Owens, stetsons, and orange groves would be a little thrown by my preferences.

Regardless of how people think of me, they have been incredibly gracious and welcoming. Even though I am clearly a little weird, I have never felt like I wasn't wanted. It is a nice change from other places where I have lived, and I appreciate it every day.

This experience I am having in Bakersfield, I know, without a doubt, is playing out for Khloe in LOVERS AND RIVALS. I hadn't thought about it until today when I knew, despite differences in culture, I was still welcome. It is something that any outsider can appreciate. How do you deal with being in and out simultaneously? How do others? I lucked out a bit more than my main character, which was frankly unexpected. I am, however, so glad I was wrong.

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All Things Are Not Equal - Cost of Living

So because we're in the throws of planning our next geography, Christian and I have been researching how much we would need to live in various locations.  This led to some tangential searches, in particular, a comparison of Santa Barbara to Bakersfield.

First I should mention, Bakersfield is still on the table.  I know I knocked it, and my view of it certainly warranted it at the time. However, I did go with Christian to check it out, and we saw some reasonable areas of the city, and their BMW shop is pretty awesome.  Plus there is the added benefit of being close to family, the Sequoias, and the Pacific.

Now, Santa Barbara is often compared to paradise, whereas Bako (as I have deemed Bakersfield) is compared to an armpit. Keep in mind that minimum wage is around $7 - 8 in California. That said, California is a large state with a wide variety of climates and topographies, as well as demographics. If someone is making minimum wage in Bakersfield, when we account of cost of living, it is the same as living on $36,000 in Santa Barbara. Now, if someone is living on minimum wage in Santa Barbara, it works out to be the equivalent of living on a little over $7000 a year in Bakersfield. That is roughly $3 an hour. Put this in perspective - people picking strawberries, working illegally in Bakersfield, making $5 an hour, are living better than someone on minimum wage in Santa Barbara.

I say this to put things into perspective for those who think that the poorest people in the country are trying to take advantage of a system and they should pay the same percentage taxes as the richest one percent. Clearly, someone who works toward taxing the working poor as much as the richest 1%, is evil.

We don't want to pay more for our McDonald's hamburger, which means that some people will always make around minimum wage. There will always be poor people. To that end, we need to make sure these people are cared for. Even the aristocracy cared for their serfs (granted, it may have been a bit more heavy handed, but still...). Even the dogs get scraps from the table.  Having health care, education, transportation, and food for these people is not too much to ask. If they aren't cared for, who will do these jobs? What will happen when they won't accept being stepped on over and over again? I know what I would do...

Interviews, People, and Traffic - Update 2

This has been a crazy week, to say the least.  I published my book, The Brothers (WOOHOO!) and am waiting for conversion (will talk more about this in a later post). I spent way too much time in both cars and planes.  And last but not least, I learned more about the differences between people than I ever cared to know.

There is a limit to how much time I can be trapped in an aluminum cage having reached its maximum occupancy.  There is a limit to how much bumper to bumper traffic I am capable of handling in a given day, or even, an afternoon.  It is true - I might be able to be comfortable with an hour in such a situation, but once I've passed that time limit, all bets are off.  Forget civility, or even a level head, it's just over.  I may shoot someone, break a window, or induce a berserker frenzy.  In short, I do NOT encourage anyone to sit in a car with me during rush hour through LA - it's not pretty.

The thing about traveling is, you learn about people.  I for one, clearly don't handle being in tight spaces trapped with a given amount of people for long stretches of time.  I also can't handle slow anything.  But beyond these things, and most importantly, I am angered by discourtesy and unsafe actions.

You can see these kinds of things all the time on the road.  People cut others off - my favorite is when a Civic cuts off a tractor trailer (You have to wonder what the driver of the Honda was thinking...). People disobey traffic lights, weave in and out of traffic at dangerous speeds, and just plain don't pay attention to the road. In planes, its not always so obvious or blatantly unsafe.

This last set of flights was from Pittsburgh to Phoenix, and then Phoenix to Los Angeles.  Pittsburgh has historically been a blue collar city with everything that implies.  There is a sense of community about the place which is refreshing in a country where individualism has become the norm. People hold open doors, say please and thank you, smile to one another, and are generally welcoming.  This is not the same with people from Los Angeles. 

Los Angeles, as Christian has pointed out to me, is a city where the main industry is television and movies.  Everything is show.  This leads to a kind of self-absorbed vanity and falseness that can be nauseating in the best of times. On the plane ride, there was a full flight, yet some people actually were trying to save empty seats because it was more convenient for them. This happened to several different passengers. Quite a few people moved items from the overhead bins for their convenience regardless of how that may have impacted people.  One guy actually opened the bin at the end of the flight and the hard metal handle of his case fell out and hit Christian on the head.  Christian picked it up and offered it to him. The guy took it without apologizing, checking to see if Christian was okay, or even thanking him for picking it up and giving it to him. 

Today when we drove along Sunset Blvd out of Hollywood after Christian's interview, we saw some of the excessive buildings in Beverly Hills.  It served to cement the idea into my head that Los Angeles is not the kind of place I can live for any length of time, if at all.  I would go crazy there, and not just because of the excessive cement, and lack of trees, or even the heinous traffic patterns. The use of wealth, the manifestation of selfish tendencies, and the pomp of manner in every day actions of people I encountered - even on the plane ride there - is the kind of thing that I would never want to have surround me.

Thank GOD for little traveling metal boxes!

Nojoqui Falls - Park Adventures in Santa Barbara County

I've been to many of the parks in Santa Barbara city and Goleta, but my parents' home in Buellton has opened up some new and interesting locations to explore.

Most recently I checked out Lompoc Beach, which unfortunately was so windy that sand would have blown into my camera so I didn't take any pictures.  However, I was able to find the first sand-dollar pieces I've ever found on the beach in my life (I know what you're thinking - what a newbie!).  This was incredibly exciting to me.

More exciting, and more unexpected, was Nojoqui Falls.  I had seen the Santa Ynez river bed dry, and even though this year has brought a LOT of rain, I expected the falls to be more of a dry ditch water sometimes runs along than anything resembling falls. Luckily for me, I was pleasantly surprised. 

I say lucky, because even with a little water, the creek, pathway to the falls, and the falls themselves, were absolutely beautiful.  It was the kind of place which lends itself to meditation.  Ironically, the falls themselves reminded me of some of the paintings I have done recently.  If you saw "Bamboo Stand" at The Nature of Texture show in Goleta, then you know what I mean (see right). 

Even though the walk is uphill, it is well tended, and definitely worth the temporary pain the less fit might endure to see it.  In addition, there are great picnic areas and lots of space for kids to play before you start your short walk to the falls themselves. 

The thing about Nojoqui is, if you aren't looking for it, you won't find it.  It's on a tiny side road that you drive right past on the 101.  If you're lucky and have a friend from the area in the car, you can get there by taking a right off of 246.  Still, if you enjoy going off the beaten path, Nojoqui Falls is worth the short adventure required.

Technically, I'm Homeless

I'm a prideful person.  It's true.  But there comes a point where you have to acknowledge your situation in life - facts are facts, and the reality is, I'm homeless.

What is homelessness? Most simply, it means not having a home.  But what exactly does that mean? When do you become truly homeless?

Most people think of cardboard boxes, sleeping bags, and shopping carts filled with cans when they hear the word "homeless." But homelessness is more complicated than the common street person, especially in this economy.  Many people are living on couches, floors, or in garages, or tents in yards of relatives because they are no longer able to pay a mortgage or rent.

I'll be honest.  I haven't checked into my eligibility for government benefits too thoroughly.  But the reality is, I don't have any income right now.  I'm here through the goodness of my parents' hearts.  I think food stamps and medicare are probably services I could get.  The problem is, I don't have proof of my income.  I don't have proof of my situation.  How do I explain my financial situation to a service provider?

"Are you working?"
"No." Though I would consider my writing to be something of a job.
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"Does your husband work?"
"He's a student." Well, except he's not a traditional university student.  He's doing a summer program across the country with BMW which doesn't make him eligible for federal aid. 

I don't have any pay stubs, any check stubs, or anything proving my story.  So what does that mean if I get sick? I don't know.  All I know, is it's not a clear cut place to be. And I don't like it.

Normally I keep my living situation fairly clean and tidy, but since sleeping in my parents' office I can't bring myself to completely put things away.  Part of it is I know this situation is temporary and I don't want to get too comfortable with being homeless. Part of it is that I hardly spend any time there and when I get back to my little room, all I want to do is crawl onto my futon covered in fleece blankets and drift into oblivion.  But it doesn't soothe that part in the back of my mind where I feel adrift.  And I do.  I feel how much I'm coasting.

I think I speak for everyone in my situation, and those who have it so much worse, when I say it would be amazing to have a home.  This is one of the big reasons July can't come fast enough.

P.S. If you live in Alameda County, get hooked up with the nonprofit, EveryOne Home that is working to end homelessness in Alameda County.  They're great people and they do great work.

The Armpit of California - Bakersfield

When people told me Bakersfield was the worst place in California, I didn't believe them.  I thought they were lying to me, or it was a matter of perspective.  It still might be a matter of perspective, but I'm more inclined to side with the people who gave fair warning.

My parents, being the good parents they are as well as withholding judgment until they experience something for themselves, decided we would take a drive to check it out.  Bakersfield was one of the shops that was looking for a master-tech, and it's better to get as much information as possible. Man, am I glad I actually checked the place out because wow - I'm convinced.

Anyone who knows me knows I hate flat.  I also hate dry.  Driving to Bakersfield along the 166 was beautiful, until we hit the farm land.  Rows and rows of artificially organized citrus lined the slender line of asphalt.  We turned on to the 99 and made our way into town.  We had already gone through several whistle stops that made my mother groan and say "God this is sooo depressing!".  I figured, Bakersfield is a big city.  It will have something worth seeing.  Something will be interesting about it.

Thing was, there just wasn't. 

Going into town, there was a large community of large houses that were priced in the mid 100s. That should have been our first clue.  We found one of the malls - it was all average stores - forget designer.  There was, of course, only one major university there to service a city of over 300,000 people. In addition to the lovely culture, education, and shopping available, I was disturbed by the apparent lack of zoning in a large metropolitan area.  Houses were next to businesses and industrial areas.  Classic "American Lawn Art" was everywhere in the middle of the city.  One of the malls actually had boarded up windows!  An entire shopping mall had become empty!  It just looked trashy and rundown - the entire city looked like it had taken on the full brunt of our economic troubles. 

I thought Phoenix was hellish, and that is all I can say about it.  It is at least hellish.  Bakersfield might actually be hell.  I'm not sure.  I guess it depends on how you think about it.  If Hell is meant to have some beauty about it, something insidious about it, then Phoenix is Hell.  You have some art nights, some cool clubs, Tempe, and Scottsdale.  If, however, Hell should just be the most depressing place you've ever been in your life, then Bakersfield takes the cake.

All I know is, even though the closest Nordstrom to Troy NY is in Connecticut, I'd rather have the mountains and the Hudson River than dusty flat uber-farms and Frito Lay factories of Bakersfield.

Coast to Coast - California or New York?

As many of you may know, Christian and I are in the midst of transition.  I like to call this summer our "geographical interlude" because we simply don't know where we might end up living.  This is even more pressing because of the conversation I had with Christian yesterday. It went something like this.

"So how do you feel about Troy?"
"Huh?" I thought about Greece for a minute before it hit me. "You mean Troy NEW YORK? Like across the Hudson from Albany?!"
"Yes."
"There's a BMW Motorcycle shop there?"
"Yes."
"They have work during the winter?"
"Actually yes."

We went back and forth about the details of such a change.  The pros and cons were weighed against the other location possibilities.  The biggest cons are of course, our family and the snow.

I like the Hudson Valley.  It's a good place.  I enjoyed growing up there.  I know a lot of wonderful people and there are many things to do between Troy, Schenectady, and Albany. Plus, it's not a bad place to have kids.

California is a beautiful place.  I love it out here.  I love the salty ocean air and I love the palm trees.  I love fruit all year round and blue skies.  I love my parents. But of course, this place is ridiculously expensive and the infrastructure is broken.  I don't relish the idea of my kids going to California public schools, especially when I know there are places that have college like electives in high-school.

Then again, the question remains where we want to be in order to achieve our goals as a couple, and I'm not sure what location would be best in order to do that.  Christian wants to own a shop - at least one - so the question remains, where would be best to do this? I want to have a couple small businesses myself.  We can't really begin these things until we're settled in a place where we want to stay for any length of time.

Still, the idea of being in the capital region is an interesting one.  I like the idea of having seasons (even if winter and mud aren't my favorites). I like the idea of being in a place that is small enough that I can have the city and the country without too much hassle.  There's water and mountains.  There's culture and low cost of living. But there is snow...lots of snow.

Christian has never lived in snow and part of me wonders if he would be okay with it.  He's always been on the West Coast. Most of that time has been spent on the California coast, with only a short period in the Arizona desert. Seasons are a different kind of animal.  Snow is something that Christian has experienced, but he's never really lived in it.  He hasn't been in a place that was as dark and cold as New York is from November through January.  Part of me worries that he would hate it.  I really don't relish the idea of moving across the country only to find that I will be moving back in a year.  I'm tired of moving like this.  I desperately want to be still.

Nothing has been decided, and we have a lot more information to gather before we come to a final conclusion.  It is a lot and frankly I'm wide-eyed while holding my breath. I just pray for the best thing for all of us.  Say a prayer and cross your fingers!

Beach in the Bay - Exploring Alameda

Did you know Alameda has a beach? Beach means there is sand and water, not just water.  Anywhere can have water.  Not everywhere has sand.  And this sand, more importantly, looks like it's the naturally created kind - not imported - by the work of the bay.

Friday was the perfect day to visit this little island city.  Not only was the sand and salty air absolutely glorious, but Alameda itself isn't half bad.  It has early 20th century architecture including the awesome Victorian paint jobs, as well as a smattering of stained glass panels every so few houses.  Add a determined group of locally owned shops representing all manner of products and services, and you have quite an interesting community.  I recommend taking a stroll down Park, the main drag, to get a little taste of what is available.

We decided to check out La Penca Azul, a Mexican restaurant within easy walking distance from our car that had gotten very good reviews. We were very glad we did!  We were lucky enough to be there during happy hour, which meant their huge appetizers were half off.  So a bill that normally would have been close to $40 was less than $20 including tip.  And honestly, we could have had a whole other meal with our leftovers, there was so much food.

Though we didn't drink, the place is renowned for their selection of tequilas which are proudly displayed along the wall of the restaurant.  I was happy with our gigundo appetizers, soda, and the excellent service we were provided from all the staff that came by our table.  The only downside was the awkward conversation taking place behind us at high volume - which wouldn't keep me from going back between 4 and 6 pm.

All in all, Alameda is worth an afternoon of wandering, food, and fun.  There are many other interesting shops and restaurants there that I would love to try out (but there just isn't enough time!).  Who knew? Sand, water, and an awesome island community right in our own backyard.

From Nowhere, With Love

Last night I met someone and I asked them if they were from the Bay area.  They said they had lived here for 14 years.  I responded that she was therefore from the Bay area.  She said, oh no - 14 years isn't enough to be from a place - she was from northern California, not here.

The longest I've ever lived in a single town is 14 years.  So I guess I'm from nowhere.  But if I'm from nowhere, I'm also from everywhere.

It hits me that I have missed out on certain things when people say things like that.  I miss out on having the really tight knit group of friends from high school that went to college together, has had baby showers together, weddings and everything.  I missed having family members close by.  People would go to their grandmother's after school, and I had to wait for summer vacation to take a two week trip to get my annual dose of my extended family.  It was isolating.  I still have that problem now.  It takes me a long time to commit to a place because part of me doesn't expect it to feel like home.  Even after being in Hayward for almost a year, I still have dreams about the house in Phoenix and half expect to wake up in it.  Sometimes I even dream about waking up in the parsonage in Santa Barbara where my parents lived (the third longest place I've lived...).

On the other hand, when I meet people that seem like they could maybe somehow be a friend, I open up and seek them out (which doesn't mean they do the same thing).  The problem with this is, I start to get my groove with the friendship and then I leave again. It's frustrating to say the least.

You'd think with my nomadic lifestyle I'd have less stuff, but the thing is, I've been expecting the situation to change.  I've been collecting furniture etc because I want to settle. I want to be from somewhere.  I want to have roots and a home that I can go to for twenty years running.  I haven't had something close to this for some time.  The closest I came was 14 years in Albany.

I did my growing up in New York, but now I look at Facebook pics of my highschool cohort, and I feel like I'm galaxies away.  Its true I sometimes slip into a New York accent.  But I also slip into a Pittsburgh accent when I'm with my family, or a southern drawl with other family members.  I've been known to take on other accents as well, depending on who I'm with, and what the situation is.  So yes, even though I grew up in New York, I really don't belong there.  Not now. 

But then, can I belong anywhere? Do I just make myself belong somewhere? It's a concern I have because I so rarely feel like I fit in a place (despite whether or not I actually do).  The irony is, that I do fit in rather well here in the Bay. We just can't afford it.  Someday I'm sure we would be able to, but by then, I hope I'm already living in a big house full of family and friends, with tons of animals and a huge garden.    No small roots for me.

Motivated to Move - Or Not

I've been hiding out this week.  This has meant playing a whole lot of Lufia 2 when I should have been packing, cleaning, or something else.  Still, I've been looking for a replacement art teacher for my student (which has been more annoying than not because of the number of people looking vying for a single regular student).  I also have packed the equivalent of one of our book shelves.  Okay, maybe two.  Probably one and a half.

Already I feel exhausted by the idea of moving.  It's one of the reasons I've been escaping (no pun intended) to Lufia 2.  That and really getting into my interval training, which I love.

Then I come back to reality and see we really only have three weeks before we have to have everything packed and ready to go.  The BMW people still haven't gotten us the information we need about the program, the apartment people still haven't given us numbers for what would work best to leave (although they're talking one month's rent either way, so it may work best just to break the lease and go), and I could go on.  I don't know, maybe I'm just overzealous, but I like to know things well in advance.  Even though I have done most things down at the wire, it has been the result of other people not giving me the information I need - because I always ask.  This reminds me that after the BMW program, I have no idea where we'll be going.  We could end up back in the Bay area, which is both frightening and reassuring.

It's frightening because I'm still not sure what I would do here.  As I have discovered with all the responses to my art teacher ad, there are a lot of people here in the art world who can do the things I do (and many better).  Even though I've acquired some contacts in the last 8 months while living here, it doesn't seem to be enough. 

Then I wonder if it will be any different in any new place. 

Ironically I, the person who has been place hopping for ten years, want to settle down and put roots into a place.  The problem is, I'm not sure exactly where that would be.  We've discovered we like many things about the Bay area, but it's too big for me.  There are too many people.  There is too much concrete.  Maybe the concrete just shows through because it can't be overwhelmed by plants the way that cities are on the East Coast.  But I don't particularly want to move across the country to some place that is cold in the winter (and white), hot and sticky in the summer, and 3000 miles away from both sets of parents.

Yeah, it's a problem.  I keep hoping for divine intervention to make this all become clear to me.  Then I got something in the mail from the Catholic church down the road.  They weren't asking us to come in, they just wanted us to send them prayer requests.  Granted, there were some weird ritualistic things in the appeal for prayer requests It's Catholic, they have mini-gods in their system of Saints which remind me an awful lot of Buddhism and Hinduism - sorry guys, but it's true.  Now, I'm Baptist which means I can't participate in any Catholic sacraments, but I'm not adverse to other people praying for me especially with so much going on in our lives. 

So I'm going to do a few things today. I'm going to pack, send in that prayer request, and with any luck find three poems to enter into a contest.  And I'm making coffee...because this is going to be rough.

Getting Ready for My Art Show

My recycled palette

It's been a while since I've shown my work.  As someone who is visually inclined, I feel the need to not only have a significant body of work to display, but also have it make sense.  When you're working with a venue where being a gallery is not its primary function, the artist is also the curator.  Themes are important.  Palettes are important.  Even size is important in arrangement etc - and not just in dimensions.  You're not going to throw a killer piece next to your worst work - it would knock everything off. Then where would you be? With nothing sold, or only one piece purchased.

Spring Dream, March 2011

Well I had a large reclaimed canvas that I needed to work on, so I figured before it gets packed away I should do something with it.  That way it can be in the show (as long as it came out alright).  Spring Dream came out better than I hoped for, and it can be seen (along with the rest of the show) opening the first Friday in May at the Cambridge Drive Concert Series music and art show (so excited!).  

Sea to Land, March 2011

Since I paint thickly and had a lot of excess paint left on my recycled palette (cola boxes have many purposes!), I also painted a more simple (and much smaller) painting, Sea to Land, which ideally would be flattened and placed behind glass in a frame.  If I can find one of those between now and the show, this one will make it up as well.

My hope is that I will visit a few thrift stores and possibly an art supply store, for at least three more canvases to balance out the rest of the show.  Currently I'm really enjoying using reclaimed canvases, either lithographic prints, or other thrift store paintings which have been discarded.  This might seem like sacrilege to some people, and of course the answering argument to me is what if it was one of my paintings? My answer to you would be this - if my work ends up in a thrift store for 5$, and that is the only way a poor artist can get canvas, let them cover it.  If I was famous, it wouldn't be in a thrift store. It's better that human expression continue unfettered than to stem the tide of inspiration by preventing someone from getting materials.  Plus, what else is going to happen to that canvas? Maybe it will be sold, maybe it will end up in the dump.  It's better to be used somehow than being in the dump, right? Plus, half the time I get a cool frame to go along with it. So, $5 for a canvas and a cool frame that fits it is a pretty sweet deal for an artist who doesn't have a lot of extra money for materials. Also, it's fun.  You can choose to cover the entire thing, as I did with one painting I sold that now occupies a friend's hallway, or I can choose to incorporate elements of the old piece into the new one.  Either way, it's kind of like spoofing, or post-modern philosophy taken to an eco conclusion.  In any case, the result is beautiful and wonderful, and that's the whole point.

Fisherman's Wharf - Adventures in San Francisco

After our organ recital experience we really needed to do something else, namely, Christian wanted to get doughnuts and coffee to combat the rainy day.  We searched for nearby coffee/doughnut shops and came up with a small franchised place called Latte Express  near Fisherman's Wharf.  After navigating several large hills and a few winding streets we found ourselves in the tourist monstrosity of Fisherman's Wharf.  I had been there once, as a tourist in 2004.  Needless to say, the place looked very different now in the rain around dusk. 

We found cheap parking for San Francisco and walked several blocks towards the little shop.  The streets were filled with vendors of trinkets and blaring signs. One Latin vendor smiled to a Chinese vendor and greeted him in Mandarin from under the overhang.  As expected, there were few tourists.  No one wanted to brave the evening rain that Sunday.  The few people we did see on the sidewalk were clearly associated with a hotel nearby.  The two or three young couples walking were tall and beautiful.  I immediately thought of Santa Barbara and wondered if I had found some strange locus that existed in the Bay.

We soon reached the shop, which was more of a convenience store than anything, the back wall completely covered by a set of drink refrigerators.  An overly friendly security guard talked up the shop (what he was guarding was not there, he must have been on his patrol).  The Asian woman behind the counter loudly and shrilly asked us what we would like.  I had been hoping for more of a cafe, and had wanted to pass it by, but because of the beckoning inside, Christian and I went in.  Plus, the doughnuts in the display looked good even if the coffee didn't.  I settled on a powder-sugar doughnut and Christian got an old-fashioned.  The sugar hadn't been brushed off very much from mine, and as I ate it went everywhere.  It cascaded onto the floor, my jacket, the table, and of course, exploded during each bite which caused it to go all over my face like a three year old might.  Christian laughed at me, to which I responded by rubbing my gums with my finger which only caused him to laugh more. I proceeded to remove the excess sugar from my face. Still, it tasted good and it was nice to have a coffee after being in the cold rain.

Feeling the urge to walk after we were sufficiently caffeinated, we went a block to the street right next to the water.  Of course here there were many more shops, bars, and restaurants, most of which were franchises.  We kept walking though until we could see the boats in the water, and finally came to Van Ness End, and then proceeded out the concrete pier.  A family was fishing, the kids running around and screaming at each other.  The pier was falling apart on one side which made us wonder what would happen if an earthquake occurred.  The old-fashioned lamps came on slowly as we walked out.  It started drizzling again.  But it was worth the walk to see the hill from the water.  The clouds half obscuring the city sitting just a little back from the water gave it a dream like appearance, and the buildings lit, were at once reflected both above and below, though to differing degrees.  Because the sun had clearly set, and the sign on the pier implied it would be locked soon, we decided to walk back.

On our walk back to our car, the streets had become covered in tourists, nearly all of them in rain gear and many inches shorter than me and that much more shorter than Christian.  I wondered why that was, the heights of people, and if it was an indicator of anything.  I thought again of Santa Barbara, land of people akin to trees they were so tall.  But this is San Francisco, which is homogenized in its diversity.  It's a place where Latin vendors speak in Mandarin to their neighboring Chinese vendors.  Yeah, this is more what I think of when I think urban America.

An Exploration of Line and Color in the Bay

Below are six of my 5x5 inch mid-winter paintings with accompanying titles.

 

These were made through a combination of natural inspiration and the colors on my palette.  I have always been interested in patterns created within nature, of which there are many.  Often times patterns in nature are hidden, or slight, and need to be discerned by the observer as opposed to the clear patterns created by bathroom tiles, for example. The movement of an organic curving line interests me as much as straight sharp lines. Contrasting colors are as fascinating as colors within the same hue family created through slight variation. This series was a development and an exploration of these things.

To give you a better idea, I will mention some of the beauties of mid and late winter in the Bay Area.  Cherry blossoms, among other blooming trees, are shedding their petals.  The earth is muddy and mixed up with the leaves of autumn. Clear blue sky mixes with stark bare branches. I think you can see the influences even in just these six pieces.

Cheap and Romantic - The Best Valentine's Day Plans

I should have started planning months ago, at least if I was industrious and thought I would have options I would have. As it was, my mind was occupied with other things.  It's for this reason I've only recently started thinking about it. 

That's right.  After February 6, I have another celebration I have to plan - Valentine's Day.  I've made Christian come up with plans too often in the past and I think I'm long overdue to come up with our celebration plans.  Seeing as I have a limited budget with which to work, I have to be a little more creative.

This will be our sixth Valentine's Day together, and our third as a married couple.  The last few V days have involved anything from watching the sunset from the Santa Ynez mountains complete with wine and cheese, to dressing up and going to a movie theater where they serve dinner in several courses.  This year I think we're going to have to do something different.  Because Christian has been making the plans, he's largely tried to do things that would impress me, sweet as he is.  I guess this year it's time for me to return the favor.

In the urban Northeast, where I grew up, there were very few people who went camping.  Sure, I went to summer camp.  Summer camp consisted of a week along a finger lake in upstate New York with a single night in a sleeping bag under the stars, the rest in cabins with full bathrooms. I had fun, but I wouldn't say it was roughing it by any means.  I haven't really done any kind of tent camping ever.  Having a pop tent in your basement with all your stuffed animals at the age of four doesn't really count.  So you can imagine my reluctance to allow Christian to take me camping.  Unfortunately for me, he went backpacking with some friends a couple years ago which required him to get some camping gear.  Since then, I've warmed to the idea, at least for short outings, if not full months in the wilderness armed only with anti-microbal underwear and a camping stove.

So what will we do this Valentine's Day? Well, we'll go camping of course!  Wine, aged cheese, some veggies and dip, and a little fire under the stars.  The cost will be minimal and we'll be able to do something nice - getting away in a beautiful place - which is perfect considering the resources at our disposal.  While this may have seemed unappealing three years ago, now, it sounds like the perfect way to celebrate my husband and my relationship this Valentine's Day.