WHOA Ohdeedoh!

Something magical happened yesterday.

My little ol' blog was linked on a huge blog with tons of readers, and a good lot of 'em actually visited me here! Ohdeedoh is Apartment Therapy's design blog for children's spaces and they somehow located a photo I posted of my niece's nursery, designed and decorated by my very own sister. (You can read about her life as a working mother and wife over at Growing Up Senge.)

The folks at Ohdeedoh featured my niece's crib nook as an example of a small cool space -- they said super nice things about the giraffe spots my sister painted on the wall, her hanging tissue paper pom poms, and the striped blanket I crocheted! See the full post here.

I'm trying to learn just how they might have found my little corner of the Interwebs so I can do more of whatever it was that lead them here! When I see my dear sister this weekend for Alice's 1st birthday party, I'll definitely toast her awesomeness for her home design being featured on such a prestigious blog! And for good measure, here's a picture of the adorable child who gets to enjoy this small cool space:

Photo courtesy of my mom's iPhone.

She's stoked about it too.

Bay to Breakers; or, freedom.

A real live miniature Up house, complete with the cast of characters. One of the more elaborate props/costumes we saw.

It seems like San Francisco is a living calendar of giant crazy street parties. People will take any excuse to drink in droves and today, a fine Sunday morning, they've emerged from their homes to march, dance, yell and, in some cases, actually jog in what is loosely dubbed a "foot race". I suppose some people are racing, but most are just... living. Parading through town however they damn well choose.

A lack of momentum left me merely a spectator to the madness. Next year I'll go big, but this year I stood on the sidelines with an old friend and watched the multitude of crazies drift by. This friend, T, is my backbone in this city. He is the person I call regularly to check in with when our lives have kept us apart for a week too long. He is the person I used to lay under beds with giggling about obscene things and funny voices, the person who would sneak over to my house and knock on my window in the middle of the night so we could go outside and lay on the driveway and be teenagers. He has always been there, somewhere in my life, and now he is here. Here where I can do my laundry at his house while we talk about Lady Gaga and watch Golden Girls. We live within a short walk of each other for the first time since sophomore year of high school and there is no one with whom I would rather be in the sidelines, watching the world go by.

In the crowd was a couple of naked older men, as you're bound to see at Bay to Breakers. They walked along calmly, taking it all in, their tan papery skin adorned with careful precision. One had glittery stars stuck here and there, random but intentional, a walking constellation. His taller companion had been painted with a subtle abstract design; his body a canvas and the artist, no doubt, by his side.

We looked at them, and T hoped out loud that one day, when he's old, he might have such a person. And shouldn't we all hope for that? Someone who will paint our wrinkled skin with care and attention to detail. Someone with whom we can stroll the streets naked, clad only in the knowledge that you have and will always have each other, plus some glitter stars and pink paint. This, T and I agreed, is freedom.

Then we realized much of what we were seeing before us could accurately be defined as freedom. All of those who wanted people to look at them but clearly did not give a shit what anyone actually thought. Guy with a belt of rubber chickens? Freedom. Couple of old broads dressed as cowgirls, complete with shiny white tennis shoes and a look in their eyes of pure naive wonder? Freedom. Naked Elvis? Also freedom. These people are living. They might have looked like nut jobs but they must have felt like the world was theirs. Maybe they don't always go through life with this same sense of can-do, of pride in whatever the hell they are, but I like to think that they just might. And if there's any city in which to be this way, it's here.

Easter Weekend a la iPhone

I spent a lovely weekend with my family in dear old Livermore. Some highlights: the bridal shower of an old childhood friend, laying in the sun, cat snugs, fondue feast complete with mini martini flight, little girls with white gloves at my parents' church, the great egg hunt (over which I was victorious), colored egg names courtesy of my friend Marnie (most notable: Ocean Sacrifice). 

I hope all of you had an equally fun-filled weekend! Please enjoy this feast for the eyes. And no, we did not take a plate of eggs out to the front yard for a photo shoot...

The end is.. where?

Source: etsy.com via Susan on Pinterest

Leaving work downtown today I found myself funneled into total mayhem on Market Street. Traffic was ten buses deep and the sidewalks swarmed, more so than usual, with pedestrians. I saw at least one firetruck and ambulance squeeze through the congestion, sirens screaming.

Everyone around me seemed excited, loud. Horns honking, street cars dinging their bells, more sirens, bikes fighting through like insects, and the villagers all riled up. The sky was that colorless wash that carries with it an inevitable sense of foreboding. I couldn't tell what might have been going on other than an isolated emergency somewhere, some construction, just particularly bad traffic. Or... earthquake? Zombie apocalypse? UFO crash landing?

I got on the 6 outbound like any other day. The big black bus driver ma'am was shrieking from up front, "TEN MINUTES!" with more sass than I will ever have in my body. "I bin through it comin' down and it wuz TEN MINUTES!" I can't remember if this was before or after something hit our bus and she went into action mode, disembarked and, presumably, put an appendage back in place.

In a high window of a building on the corner of Market and 7th was a sign that said
the end is near. I looked up at it from the bus and then closed my eyes, listening to the hum (the roar?) of civilization, just glad to have a seat.

***

I found out later that Obama is in town, hence the traffic. Bit of a shame... the UFO thing would have been cool.

Source: flickr.com via Mara on Pinterest

What the Craft?: Crochet 101 at Workshop SF

Is there anything better than a basket of yarn?

I recently attended my first DIY class at Workshop, an indie establishment in San Francisco that offers unique and affordable classes to the public. Screen printing for newbies, anyone? Glass jar terrariums? Basic bicycle maintenance? These are just a few examples. All the classes are a couple hours long and cost around $30-$40. Materials are included, and you usually go home with an (almost) finished project!

My sister lives in LA, and on a jaunt around South Pasadena last year she took me by Common Thread Studio, a beautiful, inspired space that offers sewing classes and machine/workspace rentals with a retail shop in front selling lovely handmade wares. Upon seeing it, I cried a little inside knowing I would never have time to utilize the studio as an out-of-towner, and had been wondering ever since if San Francisco had something similar to offer.

Enter...Workshop! Somehow I had never known about this magical place (that is, hallelujah, cheaper than Common Thread) until chancing upon it on a friend's Facebook. The world-rocking began and I immediately signed up for last month's Crochet 101.

Now, I wasn't brand new to crochet, having learned last year and made a couple of projects. See below.

Exhibit a. Crochet hooks and other tools enclosed.

Exhibit b. Baby blanket I made for my niece. Isn't her crib nook adorable? Giraffe spots and tissue paper flowers courtesy of my talented sistah.

However, my skill was limited, and as hard as I tried with Youtube tutorials and books, I could not get beyond the basic single stitch crochet. Wah wah. I figured joining some other eager yarn fools to get tips from a pro could be worth it, and boy was I right! There were only three of us in the class, and the teacher worked with everyone closely as we moved at our own pace to make a bottle koozie/pouch. I learned how to crochet in the round, do a double stitch (success!) and, sort of, read a pattern. The space was cozy and inspiring, and the instruction was accessible and non-scary. Behold:

Not too shabby, eh? (It's unfinished, of course.) Now the trick will be remembering how to do all that stuff. If you live in San Francisco (or want to come visit me) and like to make stuff, let's take a class together! I'm thinking I'll try out the glass jar terrariums next.

Happy crafting!

How pure a thing is joy

I always say I'm not very good at favorites. I find making such choices to be far too committal, not to mention unnecessary. Why rate things in such ways? I don't have top five places I've ever visited, I don't have a favorite book or song of all time. I have a web of beautiful things that I've spun in my psyche, and each one is good and important in a different way.

That being said, I just may have a favorite poem. I've reread this so many times that its rhythm has become a familiar place. When I want to be reminded how to live, how to make sense of our existence, of the great and terrible impermanence of our world, this is the place I come to.

What are years    

       What is our innocence,

what is our guilt? All are

       naked, none is safe. And whence

is courage; the unanswered question,

the resolute doubt -

dumbly calling, deafly listening - that

in misfortune, even death,

          encourages others

          and in its defeat, stirs

       the soul to be strong? He

sees deep and is glad, who

       accedes to mortality

and in his imprisonment rises

upon himself as

the sea in a chasm, struggling to be 

free and unable to be,

        in its surrendering

        finds it continuing. 

       So he who strongly feels

behaves. The very bird,

       grown taller as he sings, steels

his form straight up. Though he is captive,

his mighty singing

says, satisfaction is a lowly

thing, how pure a thing is joy. 

        This is mortality,

        this is eternity. 

Marianne Moore

Source: kyandra10.blogspot.com via Jade on Pinterest

Free cone day+extra

Turns out, there is a perk to living a block away from the most overpriced Ben & Jerry's ever:

Living down the street meant popping over there as they handed out their last few cones of the day and not waiting in lines. Ever had ice cream with potato chips in it? Neither had I. Free ice cream means ice cream when you wouldn't normally eat it, especially because you'd never pay $5 for one small scoop.

Free cone day is sort of like Tuesdays at Anthropologie when everything goes on sale, when you wouldn't normally get a dress but then you do, because it's only $30 and why not get a dress when it's only $30? Especially if it does such marvelous things for your caboose. And yes, this frock used to cost $168. Just sayin'.

Tuesday wins! Here's wishing you all some equally brag-worthy freebies and bargains.