Spoke too soon

Am sore all over. But still in one piece. Still thankful for that.

Further adventures in bicycling

Whenever I'm biking in this sweater I wonder how it'd hold up skidded along asphalt. Pretty well, it turns out.

Just about thirty feet from the entrance to Berkeley City College, I was about to head down the driveway and home - the driveway where there is Always an enormous white van parked that obscures the sidewalk beyond - and tonight there appeared just as I was touching the street another biker. Right There. I recall having the thought - my, you're awfully close; I am going to hit you. And then there we were in the street.

His bike appeared unscathed, but my chain popped off and my brakes were out of commission. The great thing about head on collisions with bikers is that almost every biker is also a bike mechanic, and this one just happened to have the tools we needed to realign my brakes, bless him. After shaking out our sore joints, exchanging apologies and safe wishes for the rest of our respective journeys, we pedaled off into the night.

I was on my better behavior biking the rest of the way home. No running red lights or anything. Although I did get cut off by a limo and had to turn out into the street into rapidly oncoming traffic, but no more excitement. I considered my previous bike accidents, and this is certainly the mildest of the main three, at least in terms of damage to my person.

Then, having cleaned the bike grease from my hands, I noticed a bit of buckled metal just above my ethernet port when I took the laptop out to chronicle tonight's adventure. Lucky for me the little plastic prong on my ethernet cable is already broken, I thought. And then there was the trouble opening the computer. I did manage to pry it open, and it does turn on, although it's making something of a gritty buzz and has a new slope up to the top right hand side, and a little metal hillock just above my eject key. Sorry, work computer! Thank you for breaking my fall! Hopefully you'll last another few months at least! I must say that I'm rather impressed with the resilience of the MacBook Pro, this being the second version of it I've landed on, although I'm not sure the new glass screens would fare as well. With any luck, I won't find that out any time soon.

Fictiontime

It's wonderful, isn't it, how quickly you can be whisked out of some present predicament by a bit of good fiction. I have started Cloud Atlas, and it is every bit as good - better possibly - as the promises that it would be. Thank god for that.

It is doing wonders for my commute. The hour has struck, I think, to step behind the veil of the here and now, to swap out my glasses for a new set of eyes and journey forth into the fantastic.

eleven hours

another dream.
this time, driving in culver city with my dad and sisters. we are younger. we pass a market labeled 'farmers market' with a few carts of fresh produce out front. they have cherries. we go in the store and i'm sure they had sugar cane, like lopez ranch used to. we wander the aisles looking for our own particular things. i have my small bundle. just in front of the counter with the cash register there is a band. they are playing 'take me in a life boat.' my family is ready to go, but i want to stay for the music. i want to sing. i know the harmony.
later, i'm in a house on the side of a hill above a lake. i don't recall seeing the lake, but i know it's there. it's not my house, but i am there for the time being. there are lots of things in it - lots of couches and tables covered in photographs and old things. leah and naeomi come with fig. i get to meet fig. except that fig is a boy this time. they bring coins. british coins maybe. i am packing with my back to the kitchen. it's a monday and john is there. doesn't he have to be at work, i ask. it's only the second day of the week. it is ok. still, i have the uneasy feeling.
---
i slept eleven hours last night, i think. i took the early shuttle home, biked through the park, stopped to eat my scavenged dinner, biked to class, washed my hands, walked almost to the door, but my classmates were streaming out. class is cancelled, they said. i biked home. i was so tired. so, so tired. i parked my bike in the kitchen, sat down at my desk to take off my shoes and couldn't move. stared at my feet for 15 minutes or so, then moved to the bed. let me just sit here for a bit, i thought. under the covers. i woke up at ten to brush my teeth and change out of my coat and passed out again until my alarm went off this morning.

Mostly cloudy

Looking for my zen. It hopped out earlier this morning somewhere between the cold gray skies and the tenor of a short conversation. I should really put some better kind of protection on it. I don't remember what the Hmong used. String? I've already got a ribbon tied to my wrist. I was hoping I might coax it back with a bit of morin khuur and that Mongolian throat singing, but no luck so far.

Sunday

They didn't have grapefruit at the farmers market this morning, but I'll tell you what they did have - CHERRIES! Strawberries reappeared a few weeks ago, and I've been secretly hoping for this day for weeks, and today was the day! Cherries! Not only that, but they're really good. Mmm mmm mmm.

So, of course that necessitated a picnic in the park to eat the first of the season's cherries. And they were out of scones by the time I got to the market, so I first had to invent some scones in my oven quickly before heading out, and I think I like this batch.

Do you know what else is delicious right now - carrots. I ate right through the lemon hummus I bought last week and whipped up some garbanzo bean dip as a substitute one night last week with a lemon juice for kick. Then, a tuna sandwich from my oatmeal bread with lettuce from my very own window sill and two kumquats, a bottle of kombucha and I was off for the park to play a little banjo.

Not long after moving back into the sun, a gentleman dressed all in black plopped down on the grass not too far away. Do I play music on the guitar, he wanted to know. Is that a guitar? How do you call that? Banjo, I've heard of that. Tu parles un peut de français? (This is one of my favorite questions to be asked, by the way. That and being asked for directions). Oui, un peut, I say.

At which point he launches into a story about how he's a singer from la Côte d'Ivoire and he now he is living in Pleasanton with his ex-femme and is so tired and do I have any change, except he uses some slang french word for coins and I don't know what he's talking about, though I can guess. Je n'ai pas de monnaie avec moi, mais j'ai quelque carottes si tu en veux. He takes the carrot, fresh from the farmers market, still with its greens on top. Je m'appelle Abdoul. Comment tu t'appelles? Enchanté. He is a singer. Do I know any reggae songs? He will sing me a song en français. It is a love song. Tu connais ce chanson? Non, I say, shaking my head. Apparently it is by Claude something or other. I sing you something in English. Some reggae song. Tu comprends? Oui, I say. Je l'ai ecrit, he says. Eh bien, I say. He will sing me another song. This one is called no woman, no man. It is about a tree and a bird. He does hand gestures all the while, like a true street performer, though, I can see why he's still hungry. Do I play music with a group, he wants to know. Oui, as a matter of fact. Je m'en vais dans une heure. Ou non - plus tôt que ça. Quelques minutes. Do I really not have any change? Pas aujourd'hui, non, mais j'ai quelque carrotes de plus... he does not want them. He will go to look for money elsewhere. Bonne chance, I say.

And that is that.

Free at last

The new passport came in the mail today. It is beautiful. What a relief to know I can disappear to foreign country any time I like.

Bluegrass education

I got to learn a new song called Roanoke this week. Here's Bill Monroe doing it:


Don't worry, I can't do it anywhere near that fast, but I can almost get through the whole thing! Which is exciting given that it's the second hardest song I've learned to play, and I only just (re-)learned it on Tuesday.

I should really get myself some Bill Monroe, although this makes me want to take up the fiddle instead of the mandolin to get that bowing sound.

Then, the education part of my banjo lesson was on these guys:


Supposedly the Bluegrass Album Band is/was the best bluegrass band ever...until Tony Rice (guitar/lead vocals) couldn't sing anymore, which the banjo teacher informs me had something or other to do with the dissolution of his septum thanks to his extracurricular activities. JD Crowe is also "pretty much the best banjo player of all time" even though I'm still rather partial to Earl Scruggs myself because he makes the banjo sound so happy. We also have Doyle Lawson on mandolin, Jerry Douglas on dobro, Mark Schatz on bass, and then that's the same Bobby Hicks on fiddle as in the first Bill Monroe vid.

Here's a little more of the rest of the band.


Swoon. I am not at all ashamed to be way, way into this stuff. How could anyone not love bluegrass?

You can't beat that kind of music with a stick, now. I don't care what you say.

The rite of spring

If you listen to Igor Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, he'll tell you about the violence of the months bridging winter and summer. The lightest, sweetest smelling petals, dormant bulbs coming back up, and a late snow and heavy rain to put you back in your place. After the summer heat we've been having lately, this morning reminds me of spring's back hand, and my dark heart is coming out to meet it. It seems that every heart must have its darkness, every soul its shadow, that is at once everywhere and nowhere, both a wave and a particle. I think of Joseph Conrad's deep jungles, but I don't think the blackness is their product, just a possibility. My dark heart stretched and yawned last night and is speaking its first words this morning. I've read that in different cultures, the dark heart will settle in different spots on you. Your stomach, maybe, or your muscles. Your temples. I find it in my digestive organs and the space between my skin and arms. It's good to look the dark heart in the eye every so often, and to carry the summer when winter runs late. And to breathe.

Vegetable of the week: green garlic

This is what I had for dinner the other night:

One stalk green garlic, handful of heirloom cherry tomatoes, and four small crimini mushrooms sautéed in olive oil with sea salt plus one egg cooked on top and decorated with gruyere shavings and chopped fresh basil on two slices of my oatmeal bread fried in the pan juice.

It's almost close enough to summer that tomatoes are starting to taste like tomatoes (granted the organic ones I found at Trader Joes were from Mexico). This is very exciting. It's true what they say about eating seasonal produce making you fall in love with each vegetable and fruit as they come back. Still, god bless California for growing me tomatoes for a fantastically long part of the year.

And, green garlic, as you may or may not know, is practically the most amazing vegetable ever. It's like half leek, half garlic. Except maybe it's all garlic. How have I lived this long without it???

Creeper Lagoon on KEXP

Man. I haven't heard this stuff in forever and a day. This song comes on and I almost didn't remember when I knew it from. And now I'm running through all these memories of sophomore year of college. The day I spent plastering flyers around campus for the show we were supposed to have on lower Sproul. Creeper Lagoon was supposed to headline since their full length had just come out, while they were still good, before the songwriter guy left the band. Only they never came because the show was canceled due to the threat of rain and we just stood around with Rilo Kiley who were desperate to play having just bussed it up from LA. So Kendra and I went down to the ASUC store with Jenny Lewis to buy a poster and some markers to tell any fans we were packing up and moving to Cloyne. Yeah, I was hanging out with Jenny Lewis. Their bass player felt bad for us getting all jazzed about a show that was canceled and gave us a copy of the new Rilo Kiley cd - Takeoffs and Landings. We rode their short bus to Cloyne with them where they played an awesome impromtu show.

Or there were the days at Bryan's house in south Berkeley where I discovered Creeper Lagoon in the first place. After one of those Sunday barbecue shows at Bottom of the Hill. We'd go to see Bryan's band - whatever they were called then - play and head back to the East Bay for an all day after party. I'd be the only sober one there as everyone got drunk watching CKY2K, on Bryan's beat up couch. And when we ran out of daredevil videos, there would be sledding down the stairs out into the poor bush out front. There were all the hipster musician parties, practicing on Bryan's drum set, sleeping on his broken sofa bed. And the near fateful day the one kid whose name I forget almost jumped from the shed into the bush through a power line. Thank god that even drunk, these people could recognize that was a bad idea. It was a life I never really felt a part of, but fascinating nonetheless.

High horse

Something about looking down from the shuttle at the people leaving West Oakland BART as we waited for our scheduled departure time reminded me of lords and ladies in their fancy carriages looking out in some mixture of wonder and disgust at the commoners below. Maybe it was that there were two men who walked by that could have been the working class doppelgangers of guys who normally ride this shuttle that the dichotomy was so apparent, that the divide was so tangible.

I should feel lucky, I guess, being among the privileged ones, being a member of the intelligent and comparatively well paid elite, but it doesn't sit well on me.

I am reminded of the women I saw in Mayan villages walking maybe half a mile to carry water back to their windowless cinderblock houses with dirt floors as we passed by in our tour van on the way to the nature reserve at Celestún, knowing this wasn't even close to the worst of it, and wondering if I was more part of the solution or part of the problem.

Perfect day

I fantasized about making summer jams as I made my rounds at the farmers market this morning, a chat with John later than usual.

It has been beautiful out. I packed my crooked leaf topped carrots, lemon hummus, a mango jam and almond butter sandwich on my orange honey wheat bread, mint-lavender-chamomile-honey tea and a bag of pretzel thins and headed to the park where I read straight through An Invisible Sign of My Own, for the second time, pausing here and there to add to my letter.

I still get dewey eyed watching Susan Boyle sing her heart out on YouTube, happy, as if I'm watching the proud end of a beautiful novel.

Oh, and I bought plane tickets. We're going to Paris. I'd add an exclamation point if the words themselves didn't already sound better than anything that could be true.

The big apple

If I haven't already told you, New York was fantastic. Five blissful days of doing as little as possible, but even doing as little as possible included such highlights as:

1. mailing in my passport renewal application
2. excellent dinners in and out with Ciana
3. a stroll through Prospect Park
4. a peek into the Brooklyn Public Library
5. the purchase of a fabulous new pair of sweatpants
6. wandering through Greenwich Village, which also involved frozen margarita happy hour at a cowgirl bar (of course)
7. not being rained on despite a forecast of practically three days of solid rain
8. the springing of spring
9. framboise lambic at the Red Horse Cafe, also shared with Ciana
10. a first-rate, home cooked Easter brunch with Ciana and my elusive architect sister
11. the writing of various letters and postcards
12. the reading of a book
13. the finishing of my Spanish homework and writing of my Spanish composition
14. a brief visit to the wondrous American Natural History Museum, which I am determined to see again and stay for longer
15. a quick jaunt to Zabars in which I acquired all manner of tasty treats for the plane ride home
16. the telling of my future with John in tarot cards by Ciana (more on that later)
17. not working, not even a little
18. morning tea with Ciana over European style yogurt and English muffins with honey and half-salted roasted almonds
19. the learning of a fantastic recipe for cherry tomato - mushroom - goat cheese - basil pasta a la Ciana (which I will attempt to reproduce myself in the next few days)
20. the inspection of various Brooklyn apartments
21. the experience of dancing in New York City
22. the discovery of highly inexpensive Muji stationery at the MOMA design store
23. taking a luxurious nap while the sun was out and fully getting enough sleep (finally!)

I have returned renewed and refreshed! Thank you to Ciana for being a most gracious hostess to me and my sister and for good times all around!

Unbelieveable and emotional and fantastic

I have to admit that I was just brought very nearly to tears watching Susan Boyle audition for Britain's Got Talent just now.

I'm speechless. I hope this woman gets the fame she obviously deserves.

On the secret life of plants

I read this book called The Secret Life of Plants a couple of years ago and thought it was pretty hokey. Lots of fake-science that claims that plants can feel their owners emotions from hundreds of miles away or can tell you who committed a crime they witnessed if you hook them up to a lie detector. Silliness.

EXCEPT that my work plants Always get unbelieveably sad when I'm gone. As in like way more pathetic looking than they could with the same neglect while I'm there admiring them. My fern almost died over Thanksgiving one year, for example, and two of my current plants are looking pretty grave. So grave that my usually plant-oblivious coworkers took pity on them and moved them closer to the light.

So, what does science have to say about That?

Fleet Foxes

I know most of the with it kids jumped onto this bandwagon almost a year ago when the Fleet Foxes' first full length album came out last summer, but their show at the Fillmore this last Tuesday left me feeling inspired. Something about all those vocal layers (...and the reverb) get me every time. And of course, the lyrics. Take White Winter Hymnal for example. It's like Robin Pecknold is a boy version of Joanna Newsom - somehow drawing the same sort of rich evocative pictures in your mind, but short snapshot style. It makes me want to make music. And what more can you want from a band, really?

On throwing like a girl

So, I was eating dinner in the park the other day before Spanish (this is my genius new favorite thing to do, now that it's still light out at 6pm) and I swear to God everyone and their mother - mothers literally were there - was out playing some sort of baseball or t-ball or at least the sort of catch that involves mitts and a small hard ball. It must be spring?

In any case, there were these two people - a guy and a girl - who were throwing a ball back and forth. The guy would throw in these direct, solid, effortless lines while the girl would make these belaboured arcs, shouting oops! sorry! almost! next time I'll get it!

And I have to say it just made the whole "throws like a girl" thing really vivid.

So, of course, I am now concerned that, being female myself, I would throw like a girl. I did play softball for two years, but still. I wasn't all that great because my heart was never in it. I still maintain that softball/baseball is not a real sport in the sense that soccer is a real sport. There is far too much standing around and spitting in baseball. If I'm going to dress up in a sporting costume, I want to get my heart pumping and not just because there was too much nicotine in my chewing tobacco. Which is probably what would happen if I tried to chew tobacco, which I have no intention of doing.

I do have a mitt and probably even a softball in my closet somewhere that could be put to making sure I throw like a decent human being. One day this will be put to rights.

what is filling up my brain

1. i hate to admit it, but work is still giving me a brain cramp even though i am determined not to get stepped on this quarter. i'm having a chat with a few people next week that should hopefully help improve things.

2. i was secretly hoping to somehow be in paris while ciana and russ are there and also to be in iceland for my birthday and also to be hanging out with john on his birthday, and the most obvious solution seemed to be that john would have to come to paris with me. but that's kind of a big deal and i tried to keep it to myself but then it came out. and what better thought is there than the idea of being in paris with ciana and russ and with john. in paris. with john. so, i failed at keeping it a secret, but it still seems too lovely to be real. except that it would be so easy to just buy plane tickets and go. even garrison keillor said yesterday that one must take trips to paris that one can't afford so as to have something to think back on between death and the afterlife. except that it's just money. it'll grow back.

3. starting to take a peek at grad schools. in southern california. i am also secretly wanting to live in southern california. which i never expected to be the case. only there it is. my aunt tipped me off about a good looking program at cal poly pomona. she even offered to house and feed me for free while i'm in school. i'm always taken aback when someone does something nice for me. or even just offers to do it in theory. and my aunt and uncle have an enormous yard and garden. i really need to learn more about all of that. starting with my lettuce!

4. having a tired brain. i am pleased to be learning spanish, but i can't wait to have two more nights of my week back. i think the next phase of my spanish education will need to take place in a spanish speaking country. now that my brain is reasonably well organized.

5. i most secretly and not even really as a secret just think about john. and how wonderful he is. and how it seems silly to be not closer to him more. he's so lovely i feel like i should share him, only i don't really want to share.

well, i am going to do a little yoga now. let the brain rest a bit.
then, errands, band practice, homework, and tidying.
then work.
then New York! with Ciana! and my sister! for five whole days! five whole days in which i will not work or think about work! and can focus on art and happiness and relaxation and fun and food and beauty and framboise lambic perhaps!

Bomarea

You can't even really tell from this picture, but this plant has the most stunning flowers. I mean, I like all kinds of plants, but I was arrested seeing these on the lunch table in the botanical garden greenhouse.

My cursory internet research (aided GREATLY by a 94 year old woman who told me the genus) suggests that they might have been Bomarea kalbreyeri.

Apparently these things come from South America, grow like vines and can get up to 10 feet tall. Amazing stuff.

lettuce

i guess it was a slow sale at the botanical garden today. i didn't really notice because all my cashier buddies left early and there was def a giant wad of cash in my box by the end.

sticking it out to the end of a slowish sale though meant eating the best spinach and olive pizza from arizmendi and taking home two free lettuce plants.

i am growing my own food! i had to clear out a little space on the shelf in the kitchen. i have so many plants on the counter, it's getting hard to cook, but who can say no? i love all of these little guys. <3

Spring resolutions

Just wanted to say I am feeling pleased right now.

I had a long chat with both parents individually last night about work stuff, which was nice. My dad of course had heaps of passionate and impractical advice, which I really appreciate every so often. I love when he gets so worked up that he starts yelling at me that I should be giving sass to my boss. He's a sweetheart, that one.

So, I am going to take a lunch break today. And more often in general. I am going to try again not to be swayed by the manager's inability to accept that I am smart and hardworking. I will do my best not to let his opinion get me down. And I will not compromise my integrity or my personal life to accommodate his management style.

I'm giving it till the end of May.

At which point, things will either be better, or I will farm in Iceland and get myself ready for grad school.

Were you aware of it? vol. 16: Ceanothus

Otherwise known as wild lilacs.

These most incredible flowering bushes are in bloom all over the place at the San Francisco Botanical Garden right now. And they are STUNNING.



The Sunset Western Garden book has this to say about growing them:

CEANOTHUS
WILD LILAC
Evergreen shrubs
Zones 5-19, 14-24, except as noted
Full Sun
Little or No Water
------------
Some species grow in easter U.S., Rocky Mountains, the Northwest, and Mexico, but most are native to California. In flower color, they range from white through all shades of blue, from pale powder blue to deep violet blue. Typically flower in spring. Plants vary greatly in habit: some are low and spreading, others compact and bushy, still others upright and angular. Generally evergreen; a couple listed here lose leaves in cold weather. Only types with small leaves tend to be deer resistant. New varieties (most of them propagated from selected wild plants) appear frequently in nurseries, while old ones disappear. For the widest choice, deal with a specialist in Western natives. In Zones 1-3, 8, 9, stay with varieties tested and sold locally.

Ceanothus sometimes get aphids and whiteflies, but these are easy to control. As a group, plants don't live very long; 5 to 10 years is typical.
------------
WHAT CEANOTHUS NEED
DRAINAGE: In the wild, plants grow on rocky slopes. Give them light, well-drained soil in your garden.
WATERING: Some demand total dryness, but others (particularly coastal ground cover types) need occasional summer water if grown away from the fog belt. A few tolerate more frequent summer moisture.
PRUNING: Wait until after blooms have faded; avoid cutting off branches that are more than an inch in diameter. Control plant growth by pinching back shoot tips during the growing season.