little black journal

After a busy week of tying up loose ends at work, spic-and-spanning the house (I refuse to leave for vacation knowing that I’ll have to come back to a messy kitchen…), and scouring downtown Seattle (to no avail) for a pair of cute, comfortable, city-walkin’ shoes, we boarded our plane for the windy city this afternoon and are now settled into our hotel in downtown Chicago. We’ll be here until Tuesday, and then we head up to Minnesota for a night in Minneapolis and a couple of days with Shane’s family in Alexandria. I’ve got much to look forward to over the next week, with tickets to a Cubs game, reservations at some of Chicago’s best restaurants, and plans to take a cruise down the Chicago River to check out the city’s stunning waterfront architecture. This is my first time here, and the anticipation of new sights, new art, and new cocktails is enough to make me giddy with tourist fever. We’re off to a bang-up start, as we just finished a late-night meal at the Drawing Room – intimate, classy, and man, if only I had a picture of the grin that lit up Shane’s face as he took that first bite of bacon-wrapped pork belly. I was partial to the lightly fried avocado slices, paired with my Prosecco-lemon cocktail. The evening was, in a word, decadent. Tomorrow I’ll be good and eat on the lighter side – like maybe a Wrigley Field hot dog for lunch and deep dish pizza for dinner? This is vacation, after all…

Shane and I were in the middle of our Sunday evening routine (60 minutes and an end-of-the-weekend cocktail) when the news blurb started flashing across the bottom of the screen – ‘stay tuned for an important update from President Obama regarding Osama bin Laden’. I looked over at Shane and he raised his eyebrows before darting for the laptop, ready to scour the Internet for the nation’s latest headlines. I crossed my fingers, praying that the news would be good – after the segment we’d just watched on Lara Logan’s horrific experience with sexual assault by an Egyptian mob, I didn’t know how I’d handle more heavy news. Fifteen seconds of web-surfing was all it took for Shane to give me the late-breaking report – Osama bin Laden had been killed by American troops. Hoo…ray? I would have expected to feel immediate relief from such news – I would have imagined myself clapping my hands with the sweet taste of justice being served, celebrating with anti-terrorists across America as we learned that we could finally rest easy in knowing this terrible man was no longer a threat. But I wasn’t inclined to clap, or shout from the rooftops, or even breathe a sigh of relief. I was unsettled, for reasons I couldn’t put into words. I suppose there was disappointment in knowing that despite this leader’s demise, the war on terror would still rage on, claiming more lives and perpetuating more fear and more racism and more cultural divisiveness. There was sadness in knowing that his death would not bring back the loved ones whose lives were lost in the attacks of September 11th. And ultimately, after hearing from friends that encouraged us to view the situation through the lens of a Christian American, rather than just an American, I realized the root of my uneasiness – as a follower of Christ, I am called to love my enemies, no matter the circumstance. Is there room for justice and retribution in this love? Absolutely. I’m not saying bin Laden should have been allowed to walk free; but rejoicing in another man’s death feels far from Christ-like. So instead of celebrating, I will pray for reconciliation among nations, for our country’s leaders to be richer in wisdom than in ‘intelligence’, and for a future where the atrocities of terrorism can be fought with means other than violence.

‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.’ -Matthew 5:44

There are days when I am struck with the undeniable impulse to shop – today was one of those days, and being that I’ve been practicing great restraint since my big closet purge last month, I decided I would allow myself a little retail indulgence this afternoon.  I hit up a couple of department stores down in Southcenter, hoping to find a cute top or two to wear on our upcoming vacation.  After several unsuccessful bouts in the dressing room, I had to ask myself:  what is up with the latest fashions these days?  It’s like clothes are intentionally being made to fit the female figure poorly – to bunch up in all the wrong places, with ruffles in unfortunate locations and fabrics that either rest on your hips like a cardboard box or find that one area of your body that you’re less than thrilled about and cling to it for dear life.  We’ve all had those strike-out days in the dressing rooms – I guess today was my turn.  So I wandered over to the undergarments section, thinking I could surely find something to buy there.  And I was kind of appalled by the fact that more than half of the items in that section were designed to squeeze, push, tuck, and hide, with comfort apparently being waaaay down on the list of selling points.  So I need a push-up bra and a pair of Spanks in order to wear that stylish new top that’s really just going to make people think that I’m pregnant, anyway?  Sometimes it’s hard being a woman.  Not to get all ‘woe-is-me’ – I know that I am blessed with a closet full of perfectly wearable clothes, but seriously, it shouldn’t be that hard for me to walk into a store and find a shirt that is going to reaffirm the positive body image that I’ve worked at for years.  I deserve to feel good about myself, and I deserve to actually feel good while feeling good about myself, rather than feeling pinched and squeezed and concerned about compromised blood circulation.  But I wasn’t going to let the man get me down, so I hopped back in the car and sought solace in the aisles of DSW, knowing that you can always count on a good pair of heels to come through in a clutch.  Strike three – apparently it’s sandals season in Seattle, as evidenced by three-quarters of their inventory.  And since my toes aren’t quite ready to make their Springtime debut, I left the shoe shore empty-handed.  In the end, I drove back home with a new pair of one-size-fits-all earrings* and spent the remainder of they day in my favorite sweats.  You win some, you lose some.

(*full disclosure:  OK, I also found a pretty flattering new raincoat, but my frustration seems so much more justified if I leave that part out…)

From the minute I rolled over in bed this morning and lazily opened my eyes to the sight of sun-shiny skies, I knew today would be a good day.  And indeed it was – full of so many small and simple pleasures.  It’s amazing the joy that can come with just a little bit of warmth after a long string of chilly days.  I wore a tank top outside for the first time since I was in Florida; Shane and I got our p-patch plot underway, with cute little tomato plants, lettuce starters, and beet seeds; I watched Shane play basketball with the neighborhood boys and smiled as the big kid in him made his Spring-time debut; I traded in my Cabernet for a glass of cold, crisp Riesling; I poached an egg for the very first time and served it on top of a perfect veggie-filled risotto dish…  We wrapped up the evening with dessert and a movie with friends, and I am falling into bed tonight with just the very smallest tinge of pink on my sun-kissed cheeks.  And all feels right with the world.

The sun has finally made an appearance in Seattle - the flowers are blooming, the trees are bursting with vibrant shades of green, and extended daylight hours mean that I am no longer making the trek to and from work in the dark.  After what felt like an exceptionally long winter (although if I say that every year, are any of them really ‘exceptionally’ long?), I am thrilled by the promise of Spring in the air.  But somehow, even as Seattle sheds its misty veil and shines in all its Springtime glory, all I can think about is getting out of town.  Maybe it’s a bit of travel envy – our friends Jack and La Verne have headed off on their 2-week voyage through China; and I just sent Brian and Nicole a list of Parisian sights to see, as they’re stopping in France on their way back from Africa.  Maybe it’s restlessness, as I’ve been spending my weekends cooped up in the living room or the print studio, working on my art.  Or maybe it’s the knowledge that this time last year, I was camped out under a beach umbrella in Mexico, reading David Sedaris and drinking margaritas; and this time two years ago, we were just returning from our romp through Paris and Portugal and Spain.  Whatever the reason, I am downright antsy.  Fortunately, we are just a couple of weeks away from our trip to Chicago/Minneapolis/Alexandria (Shane’s Minnesotan hometown), and thanks to my husband the trip planner, our Midwestern vacation is looking like it will be pretty fabulous, full of delicious food, artisan cocktails, good art, plenty of baseball, and some quality time with the family.  Can’t. Hardly. Wait.  But lately, I’m dreaming of places farther and farther from home.  First it was a long Autumn weekend in New York, where we’d frolic through Central Park and dine on patios in Greenwich Village.  Then it was a few days in a cozy little cottage on the coast of Maine, where we’d bask in the Fall colors and smell the ocean air.  From there, I progressed to visions of ringing in my next birthday in Paris, where we’d drink wine at sidewalk tables in the Marais and eat Nutella crepes on the banks of the Seine.  Then Shane started talking about a desire to see St. Petersburg and southern Finland, and my head really started to spin.  It’s hard to say where our Fall trip will take us – work schedules, rising ticket prices, and other priorities might mean that we end up settling for a weekend getaway in Washington’s wine country.  But for now, I’m going to let my mind wander, and remember those dreamy evening picnics on the Seine and that afternoon I dozed on a bench in the Jardin des Plantes…

As my next art show draws nearer, I’m beginning to feel the pressure to really get things done, so I purposefully set aside this weekend to 1) get creative and 2) get organized.  I was up early Saturday morning, and after whipping up a quick batch of blueberry muffins, I threw the mixing bowl and muffin tin into the sink and cleared the counters for a different kind of mess.  Our living room and kitchen became a temporary studio, as I littered the island with trace paper and photographs, taped sketches on the wall, and queued up a string of Friends reruns on the TV.

I hardly left the house all weekend, getting out only for a coffee date with a girlfriend, a short stroll around the neighborhood to take in a breath of fresh air, and a very rushed 15-minutes-before-closing run to the art supply store for more paper.  Thank God for the row cherry blossoms around the corner from us – a walk beneath their boughs was just what I needed when I started to feel cramped and cooped up.

It is both daunting and exciting to see things starting to come together – there are moments when I feel overwhelmed with the amount of work left to do and wonder, ‘What did I get myself into?’, and there are moments when I find such fulfillment in seeing a piece take shape that I wouldn’t trade my art-making for the world.  It felt good to be focused and productive, to be completely caught up in the act of bringing weeks of doodles and sketches into something that will eventually hang on the wall as a collection.  It might have been the first time ever that having a messy kitchen didn’t bother me in the least.

A few recent happiness-makers…

The Epicurious iPhone app:  I have come to discover that it’s not the act of cooking that keeps me from preparing homemade meals; it’s really the act of meal planning that I find so daunting.  I’m overwhelmed by the possibilities and the unknowns (c’mon Martha, demi-glace???) when considering what to make, and so I resort to the same rotation of stir-fry with store-bought curry sauce, pasta with store-bought marinara sauce, and soup that has “NOT HOMEMADE” practically printed on the label of the can.  But thanks to the convenience of having a number of simple, healthy, non-pretentious recipes at my fingertips via the Epicurious iPhone app, I’ve been on a cooking streak as of late.  I can scan their recipe collection on my phone while on my way home from work or while I’m lounging on the couch, tag a few favorites, make a shopping list and send Shane off to the store for the week’s ingredients, and voila!  Lots of hearty soups (we made this the other night and really liked it), veggie-filled pasta dishes (this one is on the list for next week), and plenty of muffin recipes to keep my baking streak on track.

Black Raspberry Green Tea by Republic of Tea:  I picked up a can of this at the Coffee Mill while I was back in Florida, and I have quickly become a believer in the difference between quality tea, and the cheap stuff that you pick up at the grocery store, just ‘cause it’s on sale.  Full of flavor and fragrance, and so, so good on a cold rainy night when all you want to do is curl up on the couch with Harry Potter and something hot to drink (I have had a number of these nights recently).

The new iPad:  I will admit that as with all things technological, I rolled my eyes when Shane started his sales pitch to me.  With two laptops, two iPhones, and a desktop computer in the house, I was hard-pressed to understand why we needed yet another gadget.  But dang, it’s pretty cool.  It’s going to be perfect for travel, considering the backache that usually ensues when I try to lug around my laptop in addition to my camera and Mary Poppins-esqe purse.  Super-sleek, super-light, super…Apple.  Kudos to Shane for not giving up in his tireless week-long hunt to get his hands on one so soon after their release.  Only strike against it is that it is so stinkin’ perfect for techie time-wasting: Angry Birds, YouTube surfing, Zappos browsing – I’ve been sucked into it all…

Survivor – Redemption Island:  It’s true – the latest season of this reality trash has me hooked.  Don’t judge.  Until you’ve bitten your nails throughout an intense Tribal Council, hoping that the nice guy will be spared over the back-stabbing hussie, you just don’t know how good it is.

I realize that I never gave an update on the products of the printmaking workshop I took a couple of weeks ago.  In truth, I actually left the class feeling a little overwhelmed/frustrated/wanting for more.  I didn’t end the weekend with anything that I felt qualified as a ‘finished piece’, which was disappointing – the beauty of printmaking is that patterns/images/fields of color can be applied relatively quickly, and so I figured I’d be cranking display-worthy art out of the presses after just a couple hours of instruction.  What I failed to take into account was the importance of walking into the studio with a prepared plan.  Sometimes experimentation and studio play-time can lead to really stunning works, but I have found that I need to come to the presses with a concept and supporting materials in order to walk away with something I’m happy with.  All of that said, once I quit beating myself up for not truly finishing anything, I was excited by the fact that I learned a couple of new techniques and made a couple of new discoveries that can definitely be incorporated into the work I’ve been doing recently.  And I can’t wait to get back into the studio – I’m full of all kinds of new ideas that are just waiting to be run through the presses.  I’m playing a lot with thread as a mask, and stitching onto the paper as a way to create really ‘taut’ linework.  I’m also really, really stoked by the discovery of Pronto Plates – images can be copied onto these sheets of thin polyester, then inked and run through the presses.  Waaaay faster and less finicky than paper lithography, and a very cool way to incorporate some of my photos into my prints.  I see some good art-ing on the horizon…

We spent this weekend in Portland, hangin’ with the family and getting caught up on any growing/changing that the girls have done over the past six weeks.  My parents were also in town Friday night, so we had a chance to share a meal with them and dote on Elise as an entire family, as she just turned three last week and has come to understand the joy of opening birthday presents.  She is indeed three years old – after a quick but relatively un-enthused ‘wow!’, any boxes of clothes were tossed aside, and it was the little percussion set from Mitch and Kathryn that stole the show as the most attention-worthy gift.  She banged on that drum for several minutes, then passed out her collection of other instruments, with yours truly on the tambourine, my mom on the harmonica, and my dad on the ocarina.  I can tell you that we do not have a future as the next Partridge Family, but we sure do know how to laugh together – I nearly fell off my chair as we all made our terrible racket and Elise danced in the middle of the kitchen as if we were actually playing something with any discernible beat.

Saturday was a quiet day around the house, with a couple of small outings to enjoy ice cream and park time with the birthday girl.  Elise is as playful and energetic as ever.  She loves showing us how high she can jump, playing school, wearing her awesome pink cowboy boots, and sitting on her Uncle Shane’s lap (yes, I begrudgingly admit that he is still the favorite).  Her laugh is absolutely infectious.

Morgan, on the other hand, is still tiny and precious and content just to be held and cuddled and rocked.  Although I can’t wait to see what kind of a little girl she will become, I also never want her to grow out of this always-too-short baby phase.  Shane and I offered to watch the kids and put them to bed last night, so that Mitch and Kathryn could enjoy an over-due evening out on the town.  As I rocked Morgan to sleep, I was overwhelmed by the realization of how much I already love this little girl, at only three months old.

A quick stop at Barista in the Pearl District this morning for the latte to top all lattes, and then our Portland weekend of family fun was over. The house right next door to Mitch and Kathryn’s is currently for sale – if Seattle weren’t feeling so very much like home these days, I’d be asking Shane if we could make an offer  and allow unlimited Auntie and Uncle access to the girlies…

You know those funny little segments on Jay Leno where they prove just how uninformed the American public is by asking random strangers on the street if they know the name of the Speaker of the House, or who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?  My worst nightmare is that I would be one of those unfortunate interviewees, that I would stumble over answers to embarrassingly simple questions about our nation or current events, and then people would cringe as the facade I maintain of being well-rounded, well-informed, ‘in the know’ is shattered.  I am married to a man that checks the New York Times headlines on his iPhone before he even gets out of bed in the morning, and although I know he loves me unconditionally, I’m sure he shakes his head a little when he sees that I don’t catch the simplest of political jokes on 30 Rock, or that I scan the headlines of Us Weekly rather than Time when in line at the grocery store.  Yes, it’s true.  And so, in an attempt to stop being the person at the dinner table that is constantly steering the conversation away from anything to do with government or war or late-breaking news, I’ve been making a solid effort at enlightenment. I’m checking news websites, I’m asking questions, I’m scanning the Seattle Times rather than the pretty design magazines while getting my morning coffee in the kitchen at work.

I spent quite awhile last night going through the past month’s posts on Boston Globe’s Big Picture, scanning the amazing collections of photos that depict what is going on in the world at large.  And when I was done, rather than wanting to pin a gold star on my chest for being up-to-speed on the world’s latest happenings, I instead wanted to cry.  Had I known the pain that would shake my soul by seeing image after image of suffering, destruction, loss, and unrest, I probably would have chosen to go to bed early, saying a short-but-sweet prayer for Japan before I drifted off to sleep, thinking to myself that really, that was the best I had to offer.  I wouldn’t have been faced with the truth that I should also be pouring out prayers for Libya, as missiles fly overhead, and people tremble with fear as they flee their homes and hope their lives will be spared.  I wouldn’t have even known to pray for residents of Ivory Coast, where people are looting and killing wreaking havoc on the country over opposition to its leadership.  I wouldn’t have been shaken by the image of a father in Miyagi Prefecture weeping over his lost son as he kneels in the debris that was once his home.  So…now I know.  I know that I should be praying with fervor.  I know that I should be angry and saddened, full of compassion and desperation.  I know that I am undeservedly fortunate, with my warm home and my stable government, and my life full of so many comforts.  But I wish I knew how to bring peace to Libya, how to reunite a missing child with her grief-stricken parents, how to rebuild a city from absolute ruin.  There is so much more that I wish I knew.