Thursday, September 30, 2010

9-30-10, Day 25

To Darrell:
IMAGINE




I went to a Slow Food event about slow meat in rural West Marin last weekend with some friends.  After several hours of hearty eating, we waddled down a country road, the only road through this one horse town, to wake up our digestion.   As we meandered past pastures with pigs, geese, donkeys and lots of small vegetable farms, we noticed this sign posted on every fence at about 20’ intervals and after awhile it hijacked our imaginations.  Yes, there are a lot of bicyclists in the Bay Area and they know how to hog the road.  But the image of packs of 1000’s whizzing along this road singing bicycle shanties and talking trash at volumes high enough to make the geese cackle, donkeys bray and pigs snort to the point where Marin County would budget the production and installation of these signs, why, it made our brains explode.  The only thing we could do to regain our sanity was dance wildly, but silently, in a strategic location on the side of the road until the geese cackled, donkeys hee hawed and pigs snorted.    


FROM DARRELL:
FLAMES IN THE GARAGE

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

9-29-10, Day 24

To Kathy:
TALISMAN
collage - dictionary page, cut paper, drawing, paint
From Kathy:
MY ONLY MAN OF THE HOUR

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

9-28-10, Day 23

To Judy:
GARLAND
tea bag wrappers, beads, embroidery thread
From Judy:
LAETIPORUS MUSHROOM




To Gloria:
BE OPEN TO WHATEVER COMES NEXT
paper, watercolor
From Gloria:
TINY DANCER
beads, wire

Monday, September 27, 2010

Sunday, September 26, 2010

9-26-10, Day 21

To Landlocked:
CORN RELISH/PEAR-GINGER PRESERVES






Canning.  Cross if off my life list (if I had one).  All the pleasures, the alchemy of cooking with the added benefit that it improves with age.  Behold the beauty of it, gleaming in the sun like precious jewels, as it sings to you of summer bounty through the long winter months.  I propose giving your beloved a jar of amber colored jam instead of an engagement ring.  My friend, Deborah, from Madison WI is a genius in the kitchen and under her tutelage I made corn relish and pear/ginger preserves.   The sterilizing, the hoo ha that I’ve scorned…I now bow to the effort for the pleasure of it and for the results.  


From Landlocked:
  

9-25-10, Day 20

To JP:
A GROUP OF LOVER'S
Photo, cut paper 
From JP:
KNIGHT RIDER
photo
Another picture for me. Life grabbed me hard this week of work being beat down by the man. Soon though I hope to reach my goal of a job in NorCal where I've wanted to live since I was a young boy. This picture here reminds me of a tv show I loved to watch. Knight rider! Such excess by people amazes me. I know I have my tech bug but I try to keep it controlled. To spend over 70k on a car that looks like knight rider seems quite excessive, to each their own though...



From Brian:
SLINGSHOT

9-24-10, Day 19

To Mandy:

A Group of Blind People in the Woods
cut paper, watercolor, cut Braille Bible (New Testament)
From Mandy:
DOODLES

Friday, September 24, 2010

9-23-10, Day 18

To Darrell:
A GROUP OF PRISONERS
Cut paper, watercolor, ink, pencil
From Darrell:
Part 1.
Phone message 6:19 PM.
Darrell:  Hi, Auntie Herb.  This is your nephew, Darrell, out here on Lake Mead.  I don't have a whole lot of service out here to send you anything, so my dad said we were going to do something live for you.  
(Lots of hearty laughter in background)


Chorus with Larry in foreground (sounding just a little like Willie):  Get your motor running, Head out on the highway, Looking for attention, In something, something, something---Eh, darlin'--something, something, something--On the waterway--something, something, something--EXPLODE INTO SPACE.  
(Laughter, a lot of raucous laughter)


Darrell:  So, I'll send you something tomorrow along with this.


Voice in the Background Yells:  This is just the beginning.  Laugh, laugh, laugh. 
Click. 


Part II.





Wednesday, September 22, 2010

9-22-10, Day 17

To Kathy:
A GROUP OF HOLEY MEN
cut paper



From Kathy:
Large sea grape leaf, dragonfly, wild flowers, web, turtle shell

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

9-21-10, Day 16

To Judy:
A GROUP OF LIBRARIANS
cut paper
From Judy:








To Gloria:
A GROUP OF MOURNERS
cut paper
From Gloria:
MOUSE
handkerchief folded and tied



Note:  I tore open the package and grabbed the handkerchief thinking, "Gift, gift, gift."  With some effort, I worked the knots on both ends, wondering why Gloria had taken precautions that would defy Homeland Security to protect the contents.  I carefully unrolled the handkerchief, anticipating the nugget within.  Nothing. And then I READ THE CARD.  Cringe.  Flog, flog, flog.  And so this package came with the unintended challenge of recreating Gloria's grandfather's mouse.  Thank you internet and YouTube.  Even with several levels of tutorial ("Er, would you mind repeating that?"), I produced generations of deformed mice until I finally created one that could run up and down my arm.  

Monday, September 20, 2010

9-20-10, Day 15

To Ashley:
A Group of Individuals
cut paper
From Ashley:
Vinegar Hill House
postcard


Flip side

Sunday, September 19, 2010

9-19-10, Day 14

To Landlocked
INDIVIDUAL
cut paper

From Landlocked
SHATTERED WINDOW IN OHIO
photo

Saturday, September 18, 2010

9-18-10, Day 13

From JP:
Something To Look At and Never Grow Tired Of




To JP:
Small Hole
photo

When Labor Day approaches many people’s attention turns to new school supplies, pumpkins, vivid displays of multi-colored leaves, crisp apples, or other autumnal pleasures, but all of that fades for me as the memory of a tiny hole begins to dominate my thoughts.   

Until September of 1999, I’d been on the roof of my house only a few times, strictly for pleasure—to watch fireworks, view the night sky and to catch a glimpse of the ocean.  For maintenance, the roof was the domain of the other owner and primary caretaker (OO/PC).   I’m not an expert, but as roofs go, it seemed pretty easy—only 1 ½ stories off the ground and with just a slight pitch for the main part of the house and almost flat at the back over an add on.   Easy, that is, with the right equipment.  Our problem was that we only had a step ladder which stopped about three feet short of the gutter.  We’d set the ladder up on the large front porch about 5’ above ground, climb past the huge panes of living room window glass to the very top, still about three feet short of the roof, and then take a  leap of faith using arm and leg strength over the lip of the gutter to the relative safety of tar and gravel.  The way down was backwards only and, the few times I went, I always landed thinking, “Maybe I don’t want to do that again.”  Of course, access could have been easier, secure even, with the right kind of ladder.  But that wasn’t the way the OO/PC and I tended to think.  Our logic was more along the lines of, “We’ve got one ladder.  Why do we need two?”

The trip to the roof for maintenance by the OO/PC was the dark side of the roof story that often happened as an emergency, in the rain, at odd hours.  I heard the complaints, often in the middle of the night, about poorly engineered drains and tried to listen with sympathy and compassion but sometimes I just wanted to go back to sleep.   Probably all relationships, no matter how equitable, fall into domains based on interest, habit, tradition, strengths.  We both accepted that as his domain.  I had plenty of domains of my own to be concerned about.   

When the OO/PC left just before Labor Day in 1999, the roof was the last thing on my mind.  But that hole must have been nagging the former OO/PC.  One day I came home to his booming voice on the answering machine reminding me that now, before it rained, would be a good time to check the gutters…”oh, and pay particular attention to the drain at the back of the house, where the roof is flat.” 

For days I vacillated between a raging, "I can't; I won't," and a defiant, “Who needs you? Just watch me!”  I was too proud and too embarrassed to ask for help.  And so, I waited until Labor Day weekend when the neighborhood was nearly deserted to bring out the ladder.  I set it up as I’d seen the former OOPC do it and climbed tearfully and with shaky knees to the very top.  With the grace of a drunken frat boy, I hauled myself up and over the lip to the loose pebbled surface of the roof and gingerly walked as far from the edge as possible and sat down to muster my courage.   I was raised in a rigidly conventional household where men work outside and do the heavy lifting and women do just the opposite.  As an adult, I’d pushed hard at the boundaries of that kind of thinking by learning many skills that weren’t traditionally female and consciously challenged female and male stereotypes.  And yet part of my conflict that day on the roof was feeling abandoned to take care of myself in this way, as if the marriage contract had included til death do us part and eternally clean gutters and all heavy lifting. 

As I sat at the peak of the roof looking down at the street and wondering if I could or even wanted to take care of myself in this way, a funky pick-up truck screeched up to the curb and parked in front of the big house across the street.  I watched from on high as a wild haired man pushed open the door and stepped out.   There was a porta-potty at the curb put there for the use of construction workers renovating the house across the street.  The skinny, crazy haired man took a few hurky jerky steps in the direction of the porta-potty and then his body bobbing and weaving took the same number of steps backward.  He did this many times—forward, backward, touch the handle of the truck, and repeat, until he finally inched his way to his destination and disappeared inside.  I was mesmerized, completely transfixed, watching this curious obsessive behavior as if through a one way glass.  And then he reappeared and began the dance back to his truck—forward, back, this time bend down, spring up, repeat.  Suddenly, he stopped, mid-step, frozen, like a deer catching the whiff of a foreign scent.  And then he looked up and zeroed in on me.    

“Lady,” he called.  “Lady.  Are you okay up there?” 

I was shocked.  It seemed impossible that he could have sensed me way beyond his field of vision.  I dug my feet into the tar and gravel and stood up.  I glanced up and down the deserted street.  The neighborhood was like a ghost town.  It felt like the two of us were alone on earth. 

“Do you need some help, Lady?  I could help you.”

“No,” I shouted emphatically, suddenly fully awake.  He looked like a toy man, so far away, his eyes hidden by the distance and thicket of hair.

“No, thanks for your offer.  I’m fine up here.”  I said it with a conviction I wanted to believe.  "Be careful what you wish for," I thought.  And then I turned my back and went off  to find the drain where the roof was flat.  

It was blocked with leaves then, as it has been every fall  for the past ten years (sometimes in-between).   I think of that tiny hole as my home's Rosetta Stone that begins to speak to me as August fades.   Now, 10 years later, I borrow my good neighbor’s extension ladder.  And I bring gloves and pruning shears.  I clear all the drains and gutters, clip overhanging branches, inspect for wear and critter invasion.   When I’m finished, I sit at the peak of the roof and admire the view to the bay, the  majestic trees, many older than the surrounding houses, and the sheltering sky that dwarfs it all.   I memorize the perspective for future reference, say a final blessing to the roof, drain and gutter gods and climb over the side back to earth.

Friday, September 17, 2010

9-17-10, Day 12

From Mandy:
ROCK, PAPER, MOOSE
(Mandy's got a brand new blog:  http://rockpapermoose.blogspot.com/)



To Mandy:
GRAVENSTEIN APPLE RUSTIC TART
cut paper, watercolor, ink, linen, string, gel medium

Thursday, September 16, 2010

9-16-10, Day 11

To Darrell:
"One Head Is Better Than None," or "Heads Together"
photo
From Darrell:

9-15-10, Day 10

To Kathy:
Found post card, writing, cut paper, gel medium.
From Kathy:
Sea Grape leaf, calligraphy

9-14-10, Day 9

To Judy:




Jim Jarmusch quote reproduced in watercolor, ink



From Judy:
"This is part of the puzzle," handmade silver jewelry




To Gloria;
Russell St., Hit by the Knitting Bomber, photo




From Gloria:

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

9-13-10, Day 8

To Ashley:
"Not on the Floor," ink, watercolor
From Ashley:
STAFF MEAL
photo

9-12-10, Day 7

To Land Locked:
"A Week of TEA," tea bags, thread


From Land Locked:

Saturday, September 11, 2010

9-11-10 Day 6

To JP:
Ink and watercolor.





I don't draw often any more.  My eye/hand coordination has moved to another country.  I'd like to get those chops back and look forward to plenty of practice this year.  This looks like the crooked little house, barely standing after a major earthquake.  It's actually a lovely, upstanding Victorian on Guerrero St. in SF, near Baretta, one of my favorite restaurants.


From JP:

September 11, 2010

For my first of many I wanted to write a mini blog. Today is 9/11/10 and there was a beautiful ceremony at my place of work for all those that were touched by this day 9 years ago. I came into my day excited to be able to partake in such a nice thing for a large hotel to do even though they did not have to do anything. Color Guard was brought in from the local aeronautical university, the chief of police, and even one of the most well known lieutenants for the fire department. They were all there to give brief moments of recap for all of us to not take for granted this day and remember it as it should be remembered. I was talking with a few of my employees after and it is amazing how everyone remembers exactly where they were when the events of this day 9 years ago unfolded. I personally was taking a short break from real college and in community college back home. I was on the way into a sociology class with 50 of my classmates and remember watching the planes crash into the Towers on live television. It is a memory that will be engraved in my brain likely forever. I then realized how many people have already forgotten about this day in our history, not even that far past. People that felt inconvenienced that we shut down half of the hotel to take the time to remember those that lost their lives. It makes me ashamed to know that there are people that whether directly impacted or not simply shrug it off as though it never happened for anyone. At least I can say I will always remember…



Friday, September 10, 2010