November 9, 2016
This photo was taken yesterday when we spent the day in Baltimore eating crab cakes, blowing glass, rolling down hills, and seeing art made out of food. It was a great day with my mom, my kids, and one of Noah's friends. It was sunny and we were savoring every minute of it.
This morning is dreary, rainy, cold, and scary. The election results will have a direct impact on our family. A family with a daughter born in a different country and with darker skin. A Jewish family. A military family. A family of artists. A family with members wounded by war and members born with special challenges. A family with trans friends, gay friends, immigrant friends, and friends who are survivors of sexual assault and abuse. A family with members who are struggling to put food on the table. I want to have hope about the future, I really do, but right now I am reeling and wondering what is ahead for all of us.
October 23, 2016
|The View From Our Front Door|
For Seasonal Snacking: Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies
For Haunting (and crying): Ghosts
For Reading: The Underground Railroad and Chains
For Calculating: Math24
For Cold-Weather Cooking: 50 Instant Pot Recipes
For Making Music: The Schnick Machine
For Seeing Live: The Blues Project
For Meditating: Insight Timer
October 10, 2016
October 7, 2016
Lines and letters intersecting, twisting, and coming together in a collaboration between art and poetry; artist and viewers; mother and child.
We spent the afternoon at The Hirschhorn circumnavigating Linn Meyer's striking work, "Our View From Here". Ever since watching the time lapse video of how Meyer's installed the piece of the course of many weeks, I had been itching to see it up close, but I had no idea that it would have such a big impact on both of us. As if we were being pulled out to sea on a rip tide, we were immediately sucked into its alluring currents and caught up in a surreal scenery composed of lively black lines.
Moving sticky notes around on blank sketch books, but eventually transitioning to the floor so we could really play with them. Selecting the ones we both loved the most, setting aside those that might or might not work, shifting combinations until it sounded right to both of us. I loved how different our words were and yet, how beautifully they worked together to form a satisfying little nugget of our experience. It is essentially our very own "view from here".
Tangled rainbow whorl
To a point
Swirling, swooping, cascading, pulsing
Lines, lines, lines, lines
by Camille (age 10) and Lucia (age 43)
Inspired by Linn Meyer's "Our View From Here"
The Hirschhorn, October 7, 2016
October 4, 2016
We have been spending a lot of time immersed in the Colonial period: visiting a variety of living history parks/ national historic sites; reading journals, texts, and historical fiction; and working our way through the fabulous PBS "reality show", Colonial House. I have always been a voyeur and this recent historical immersion process has really been fascinating. Our visit to Yorktown, Virginia last month was filled with nitty gritty details, artifacts, and ephemera. A haunting little cradle with hand-made dollies, a green mug left on a bench by a Colonial farmer who had probably been resting between chores, maps and navigational tools inside an officer's tent, disturbing medical tools and Colonial era treatments, flax and hops plants growing in the garden, and hand-hewn tools. Sometimes the folks working in these historical re-creations are excellent, sometimes they are weird, but regardless of the staffing, the physical items from daily life always catch my eye and plunge me back into day dreaming about what it must have been like to struggle and hope during that stage in our country's history. ***All of the staff at York Town were great! and I highly recommend a visit, especially in Spring of 2017 when the new museum will be open and the expansion of the living history park will be complete.
October 1, 2016
Rosh Hashanah feels like it crept up on me this year, swirling in with the messiness of September and endless days of rain. It starts tomorrow night. Usually by this time, I will have stacked up a pile of holiday books, dug out our shofars, and have big bowls filled with apples as seasonal decor. But none of those things have happened yet, and they may not. This time of year always involves intense juggling of schedules while attempting to craft together a rhythm that works for everyone. That intensity increased when we made the decision several years ago to become a family that lives in both the homeschool (Camille) world and the traditional school world (Noah). And for some reason this year feels even more overwhelming. I have been puzzled by that feeling because although both kids have fairly busy schedules, we have actually cut back on their after-school activities and I have been diligent about trying to take of myself with daily yoga/meditation and regular yoga classes. I think that feeling of unease is related to a larger sense of uncertainty hovering in my conscious and unconscious mind.
We are entering our final year in the DC area and that always brings with it a slew of mixed feelings and preparatory anxiety. We have lived here longer than anywhere else in our history as a military family, so the roots are a bit deeper and twistier, and digging them up will be painful. We are also facing a move back to Japan with much older children and a crazy muppet of a dog. There are more emotional, physical, and logistical details than in our previous international moves. But I in addition to those moving-related worries, I am feeling a deeper sense of concern about the current state of our world...wars that never seem to end; racism that seeps, stings, and slays; the upcoming election; illnesses that attack with a vengeance; natural disasters that change lives overnight; and disconnection, apathy, and insularity.
Needless to say, I haven't been sleeping well or living with a light heart lately. And that's exactly why Brain Picking's feature about E.B. White's letter came at just the right moment this week. E.B. White is one of my favorite writers and this letter of his is something I want carry with me right now. Perhaps something everyone should be carrying with them right now. I am tucking it into my pocket as we prepare to enter into this contemplative period of the Jewish High Holy Days. Wind the clock, sprout seeds of goodness, and maintain hope for a sweet new year. L'shanah Tovah!
|Williamsburg, Virginia, September 2016|