A Momma's Got To Brag

As you can see from the photo, Hannah's snowboarding team opted for an 80's theme for their first meet of the season. We set aside the new expensive boarding clothes for bright thrift store finds. Go figure.

Hannah, a freshman on the Colfax Snowboarding team, made Varsity. Yesterday was their first meet ever and she placed 2nd for her team! She placed 18th overall, which will qualify her for the State Finals. Go B!

Although I was unable to attend yesterday's meet (prior obligations), it was so great to hear her excited voice, at least seven or eight times, on the phone. You know when you do that thing, and you do it really well, there's a rush, an excitement. You set your mark and you hit it. It's such a great feeling. She was feeling it.

Pieces of Furniture

A new living room lamp.

Crimson and Clover

I had a memory today while driving through the mountains. It was snowing today, a beautiful, white silent snow. I had just dropped Hannah off at boarding practice and decided not to stay because the snow was coming down steadily and I do not have 4WD. Another member on the team was going to give her a ride home. It could have been the panoramic view, the change in plans, the unexpected solitude that triggered this memory, but really it was probably the song playing on the radio: "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James & The Shondells (play music below and then play it again and enjoy the funky video).

Back when I was nineteen I went to Europe. I planned the trip two months before I left. And I say "planned" very loosely. I really had no plan except to stay with various friends I knew from high school that had joined the military and a foreign exchange student who had returned to her home in Switzerland. I had no ideal how long I was going to stay (I ended up staying for four months) or what I was going to do exactly when I got there. I had no fears and no expectations (ahhh, no expectations).

I spent most of my time in Germany and I liked how compartmentalized the landscape was. Little villages with a bakery, a butcher shop, and a vegetable vendor. Flowered window boxes and narrow cobble stone streets. Lots of open and forested space with clumps of cities and towns in between.

I remember one night sitting in a quaint pub that was cloistered in chunky dark wood with a faint glow of purple and golden lights illuminating the glass behind the bar. There was a low hum of conversation and occasional laughter. I had gone there with a friend of mine who had joined the Air Force and who I was staying with in his upstairs flat off base in a small town called Bad Winsheim. I was talking that evening to a young handsome military man who was older than me, (thinking back on it, he was probably the ripe old age of twenty five). He had the similar sad, longing look about him that most of the boys in the military had. I had made friends with a few of them and we would go around the cities on their days off. They were all nice and harmless. This particular older, handsome fellow and I talked engagingly and tirelessly for hours. He asked me about my boyfriend across the room that I had come in with and I assured him, Steve we'll call him, was not my boyfriend but a friend from high school. I remember "Crimson and Clover" playing in the background (late 80's Germany was in love with American music from the 60's) and for some reason that snapshot is etched in my memory.

When the pub was closing we stepped outside. It was cold and foggy. It was time to go and we needed to say goodbye. I remember standing against the wall of the pub and he kissed me full on the lips, I can't remember his name, but I do remember that kiss. That one simple kiss that I felt from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. A kiss that I, at my young inexperienced age, did not know existed. A group of people tumbled noisily out of the pub and in it was Steve and friends of my handsome companion that he had come with that evening in a jeep.

Steve and I had walked to the pub from his flat and because it was cold and late we held hands on the way home (I believed we held hands because it was cold, later, when I was leaving to go to Italy, Steve confessed his love for me, had felt it all through high school even though I knew us to be just friends, and talked about getting married one day. I was not going to be an army bride, not at nineteen, not ever). I remember the handsome man and his friends driving past Steve and I as we walked. I remember connecting with his sad, longing eyes and then watching his face disappear as they drove out of sight.

For the next few weeks that I stayed in Bad Winsheim following that evening, I never ran into my handsome stranger again. I lost contact with Steve after that as well. (I did run into him years later at a gas station in our home town. He was married to a woman who was also in the military and they had two kids).

Driving in the quiet, enveloping snow today listening to "Crimson and Clover" on the radio triggered a memory I hadn't thought of in at least ten years. A memory of Europe, of the purple and golden glowing pub, and of that kiss.

Kitschy in the Kitchen

Reference.com. Kitsch: any type of art that is deficient—whether it tries to appear sentimental, glamorous, theatrical, or creative, kitsch is said to be a gesture imitative of the superficial appearances of art.

Kitsch has been identified with the bourgeoisie, totalitarianism, the "culture industry," and evil.

My kitchen, with it's original 1960's turquoise counter tops, cries out, it begs for kitsch.

This Is Why

Now you will know why I won't be posting for a few days: 2008 Business Operating Plan presentations in front of the big, big boss for the next few days. I've been crunching numbers to break a sweat preparing for this thing. Whew!

And you know what? When I have been cooking these past few days, it's been like a 50's housewife: bacon and english muffins, pot roast with gravy and bisquits. Am I trying to strike a balance between corporate life and home life -- in a really weird way? Gross. Maybe I am just indulging in (fattening) comfort food.

I would call this slide show, "I'm So Gay for the River" but that would be inappropriate. So, I won't. Hopefully the music will play on your computer. I am having a little technical trouble making it happen (mostly because I don't know how). The song is "Lake Michigan" by Rogue Wave. Enjoy!

A River Runs Through It

With a break in the storms, it was time to check out the American River Canyon. 

Two of the three forks of the river, the North Fork and the Middle Fork blend at the confluence. Whenever there is an influx of water, the two rivers merge with different colors and you can actually see a delineating line. Very cool.

The rapids were humming today. (Photo of the browner Middle Fork).

This section of the trail, which I usually ride on my bike, was made quite impassible by the storm. This is just one of many blockages I climbed across.

Batten Down The Hatches

My day began at 4:00 am when the big storm blew into Auburn. I ran outside in the howling darkness in my pj's trying to secure anything that wasn't already on the ground.

The winds came in at up to 60 mph leaving quite a bit of debris in my yard.

But not as much debris as it left in the unoccupied house's yard across the street. It's quite sad to see such an old, beautiful oak taken out. Especially when it was the view out of my front picture window.

This fallen oak may have been the cause of, or at least contributed to, the nine hour power outage we experienced. Much of the Northern California region experienced loss of electricity as well.

Then came the torrential rains. (When running back to my house after taking this photo, I slipped on my front walk way and careened on my back all the way up to the front door. I felt like a penguin. Luckily it was more funny than painful and my daughter, her friend Ali, and I were in hysterics to the point of not being able to speak for at least five full minutes).

No where in Auburn escaped the hit of this storm. It was quite unsettling actually. Brace yourself Nelly, apparently there are two more storms to follow! Sob.

Art For You

This is a drawing my son Brent made on his computer. Enjoy. He is the sweetest young man you would ever want to meet -- and talented.

Ringing In the New Year

New Year's Eve was spent quietly at home -- the way I like it.

New Year's Day was started on the trails of the American River Canyon -- the way I like it.

Taking a brief photo break.

Mt. bike accomplice S. Namany (holding the camera at arm's length always makes for a great portrait -- note the sarcasm).

The Foresthill bridge sprouting from my head. You can't necessarily tell in the photo, but there is mud on my shirt. It is always good to start the year with mud on your shirt.

More Pictures About Buildings and Food

My friend Molly said she likes pictures of food. Her comment made me think, and I had to agree, I like pictures of food too. I realized by looking through my iphoto program that I also like to take pictures of food. Not in a "magazine" kind of way, more in a "passing by the sink/counter/table and something beautiful catches my eye" kind of way.

Ok. So there are no photos of buildings. I formed the title from the memory of a Talking Heads album I used to have. I like them too.

Good For The Soul

A little unexpected snow is good for the soul.

Taking a walk at dusk with Cole is good for the soul.

Eating a waffle on a pretty plate is also good for the soul.

She's Got Stars In Her Eyes

My Guitar Hero.

Word Usage: Patterns

It is nice getting back to routines now that the Holidays are over. I have at times felt that the tedium of managing daily life can be smothering, however, I realized today that I enjoy patterns (the dictionary usage: forming a consistent or characteristic arrangement), and that includes the tedium of daily life.

The photo above is of the Toile curtains hanging in my bedroom. I like the pattern (the dictionary usage: a decorative design). I laid in bed this morning staring at these curtains feeling very glad that they were not green and red and adorned with Christmas trees.

Who Said It?

"First we'll make snow angels for two hours, then we'll go ice skating, then we'll eat a whole roll of Toll House cookie dough as fast as we can, and then we'll snuggle".

I like this agenda. Merry Christmas.

Photo by Hannah

The tree in front of our house as seen through Hannah's eyes.

Christmas Chili

Cooking chili heats things up when it's chilly outside. My mom's (no beans) chili recipe was given to me over the phone without any exact measurements -- it's all instinct. The "recipe" includes four different types of chiles (listed in order below):

1. Habanero - hot
2. Jalapeno - mild to hot
3. Anaheim - very mild
4. Serrano - hot

Chilis are fascinating to me -- their variety in size, shape, heat and taste -- and the fact that they taste delicious in a meat dish as well as dark chocolate. The other ingredients in this chili include stew meat which is seasoned with salt and pepper, tenderized, and coated with flour. The meat is browned in olive oil with garlic and onions (ANY good recipe begins with garlic and onions) and a little red bell pepper. Stewed tomatoes are added and as many of each variety of chiles, diced very finely, to create the temperature of your own liking. The ingredients altogether are cooked long and slow in a covered pot. The chili is best served in a warm tortilla with a sprinkling of cheese. (If you get the temperature right, you'll need the cheese).

Sorry no exact measurements given -- the chiles are my guide. And very tasty at that!

Baby It's Cold Outside

Winter has me feeling antsy and blah all at the same time. Maybe I need to embrace my inner-hibernator like was suggested at Yoga the other night (the yoga instructor informed us that humans go into a natural hibernative state during the winter seasons similar to some of our other mammal friends. I think she felt it had to do with the sun and the moon or something like that. I wasn't really paying that much attention to what she was saying, I was trying to balance on my right leg while holding the toe of my left foot with my right hand while my left leg was behind my back). Right now I would like to just eat a lot and then sleep a long time. But, no, I must carry on like a human . . .

[This photo of the American River canyon and the wooden post were taken while driving the long way home after dropping the kids off at their schools before heading back to the home office to work. It's actually not on the way home at all, more like a detour. Sometimes I find it necessary to take a short detour].

Let It Snow

(Vista near Nyack off I-80 South bound)

Love It and Link It

Check-it-out. I have added two new links to the right side of the blog site. One link is to my talented and crafty friend Molly's etsy shop. Molly has repurposed men's dress shirts into uniquely designed aprons called the Blue Collar Apron. Adorable! If you visit her store molly made you will want one for yourself, your mother, your girlfriend, your daughter, you get the ideal.

The other link on this site is to my nephew Corey's Subject Skateboards store. He started this business when he was just fifteen (he is seventeen now) and he designs and screen prints shirts, hats, sweatshirts, and of course, skateboards. He also sells his merchandise to local board shops in town. I am very proud of him. Along with his entrepreneurial skills, he is the drummer in a band called Aisle Six. They have won first place and accolades at several Battle of the Bands, play regularly at the Downtown Grill on Nevada St., and are booking various other gigs. And, most importantly, he is one of the nicest young men you'd ever want to meet.



Now get linky with it.

Feels Like The First Time

I have no photos that capture me in the act, but I went snowboarding for the first time yesterday. Every muscle in my body is verifying that fact, it hurts to move. But it hurts so good. Now that Hannah is on the Colfax High School snowboarding team, we are up at the ski resort every weekend. When we first started going I would sit in the lodge and read, or day dream, or etch away on some project for work. However, I knew it wouldn't be long before I started to give in to the itch, the itch to try something new. I love to ski, but it is so eighties.

So yesterday I strapped both my feet into a board and tried to swoosh my way down a snowy mountainside by keeping balanced on both edges of the board, leaning with my body but steering with my toes and heels, adjusting my weight forward while leaning backward using both my hips and shoulders; the long way to say staying upright. Along with being incredibly frustrating, however, it was fun. When I thought about giving up half way through the day to swap the snowboard out for some skis and just careen down the hill, I realized it is often more fun to do something we already know how to do. Still I was determined to keep trying (until my head was throbbing from falling too often) and I am going to try again next weekend too. Thirty-nine-and-a-half is a great age to start a new high impact sport with your kids.
(The purple board on the left is Hannah's old board, which is now my new board).

Mandarins Ahoy!

(photo by Hannah)

There'll be no scurvy in this household, arrgh.

Keepin' It Real

My son, Cole, ponders often. The other day mid-way through breakfast he said to me, what if the earth's orbit around the sun is like the water that spins around the toilet bowl and is flushed down into the middle? He went on, maybe CO2 emissions are not contributing to global warming, maybe the sun's gravity is pulling the earth towards it? I swallowed my French toast and thought to come up with a good response. My first thought, compliment him on his observations. My second thought, a wise-cracker answer, "well, thank goodness we won't be pulled into the sun in our life time, ha-ha-ha." Unsatisfactory response. His brows were knitted, and our collective unspoken thought was, if the possibility of this were true, it would happen in some one's life time.

Ever since Cole has been little he's been prone to moments of existential crisis. It began when he was very young and would realize suddenly and inconsolably that I was going to die some day. I would hold him while he cried (unless I was driving at the time, and then I would just pat his arm and keep us on the road) and tell him that I will always be here for him. And then, wise-cracker answer, one day when I do pass away, I'll be so old you'll be tired of me and ready for me to go, ha-ha-ha. Unsatisfactory response.

A few months ago I sent Cole in to brush his teeth before bedtime, he complained, I said go. Nothing unusual. One minute later he emerged from the bathroom hysterical. Mom, he uttered, the universe never ends, there is no beginning, there is no end. There is no end to time. If God created the universe, who created God? I held him, I consoled him. I told him most things we know have a beginning and an end, but some things aren't concrete, and they are more difficult to grasp. I told him that where we are right now is concrete, and it is good, and right now is the most important thing to know.

During this time, Brent, Cole's older brother, came in the room. Brent, I said, Cole's having a crisis, help. Ok, Brent thought for a second. "Cole", he answered, "a famous philosopher said, 'we think, therefore we are'." We exist . . . he went on to soothe Cole's roaming mind until he was able to fall asleep. I really don't remember everything he said, I just remember being impressed that Brent was able to swiftly step in and save the evening. He may as well have been wearing a cape. Those are some deep thinking kids. It is interesting to know there is a lot more going on in our kids' minds than what we can ascertain . . .

Hannah told me recently that in fourth grade she worried she was just a character in a book and her life was just a story someone had written. Uhh, and you waited until you were a freshman in high school to tell me about this? I don't always have the right answer for those earth shattering deep thoughts. I guess our job as parents is to just hold on to our kid's ankles and keep their feet close to the earth, and hope that the earth does not crash in to the sun. . . (and yes, the photo above is a picture of a house shaped like a toilet bowl. That blows the mind).

Trying to motivate myself to work the other day and not doing a very good job, I found myself clicking around the blogosphere. I came across this woman's website from Japan. She knits food. Wow. I am sorry I didn't make a link to this site and don't even remotely remember the site's address. I am really, really sorry. Sorry. (My brother-in-law Paul, my oldest sister's husband, once told me to stop saying "I'm sorry" so much. I then apologized for always saying "I'm sorry." I really don't say sorry that much anymore. Mostly I say it when I need to).

I must have a mischievous mind because when I saw the picture of the eggs, I thought, that would make a funny sweater. . . not sorry.

B

This is my daughter Hannah, who's nickname is B. That makes perfect sense, right? Well, the name Hannah became Hannah-Banana, which eventually became Banana, which eventually became "B." Now it makes perfect sense.
Hello B.
When she was born and I held her for the first time, I thought, the feeling of love could never be stronger than this. I knew she was special from the start. Now she is going to be fifteen soon and she scares the daylights out of me. Although, she still tucks her feet under my legs to keep her feet warm when we sit together on the couch, so I know everything is going to be just fine.

The Giving Tree (all aglow)

Growing up not celebrating holidays, I found Christmas to be quite excessive. But well into my adulthood, of all the Christmas traditions, I have grown to like the tree. I have grown to love the tree. It smells pretty, it looks stunning, and I like the warm glow and atmosphere it brings to the house. If there is nothing else I do for this holiday (besides listening to choice Christmas compilations and making cookies), it is to wrestle a tree into the house and decorate it with my family. And then sit back and enjoy.

There is little guilt involved with buying a live tree for me. I look at it the same way I do oranges that are grown in a grove, the trees are grown for this reason. You may disagree and tell me my point of view is wrong, but then you will be shattering my whole invented reality.

I was reading about creative tree disposal programs all over the nation. My favorite is an organization in Arizona that collects previously used Christmas trees, puts cement shoes on them, and drops them to the bottom of Lake Havasu. Lake Havasu is a man-made lake with a barren lake bottom. When the trees reach the bottom of the lake they form a barrier, a dwelling place for the fish to lay eggs, hatch, and grow new life in. That is a beautiful thing.

For disposing of our tree, I used to pay the Boy scouts $5 to pick it up every year. I had no ideal what they did with it. They would leave an envelope at my door, I would leave the tree outside on the designated date, and I never saw the Boyscout and he never saw me. I guess that particular Boyscout has grown up and moved on because I don't get the little envelopes outside my door any longer.

Cole and I have started a tradition of burning our tree when it has given all it can for the season. Burning may not seem environmentally sound or friendly, however, ever since I was a child I have loved FIRE. And Cole does too. We enjoy cutting the tree into pieces and squealing at the enthusiasm in which the pines crackle and burst into flames. We also like roasting marshmallows by its beautiful heat. In this way we are sharing one last moment with the tree. I do love the Christmas tree.

The Ground Breathed A Sigh of Relief. . . and the day I had ensuing

It finally rained! The atmospheric environment has been stabilized. I don't know about you, but it seemed there was a lot of tension in the air lately -- almost everyone I talked to had some kind of pinched strife going on. And then finally it rained. Peace has been restored. Except everyone in my house woke up sleepily, reluctantly, and late. No one wanted to start the hustle of the day. And I have been sleepy all day.

Let me tell you about my day. . .
Today I picked up Dr. S____ from the Sacramento airport at 10:30 am. (Although no one will actually know of this Geneticist from Nichols Institute, the corporation I work for, I am going to give him anonymity anyway). I drove him to Stockton where he gave a lecture at one of my larger hospital accounts. I worried before hand what I would talk about with this MD, PhD, FAAP, FACMG, HCLD (no kidding, I don't even know what most of those credentials mean) on the car ride there and back, but I figured it would all work out.

I met him curb side at the airport and as soon as he got in the car his phone rang, he answered. I heard his one way conversation. He was upset with someone on the other end who had sold a CF40 lab test to another lab, leaving his lab to perform the CF70 even though he felt the CF40 was a better test (??? I don't know what these tests are). He used many colorful words like sh**, f*** (a lot), and commented "if someone hadn't gotten her fat a** involved, everything would have been fine". Uuuuh, wow, doctor. He is still a practicing genetics pediatrician at UCLA as well as medical director of genetics at Nichols Institute. I could feel him glance at me every time he spoke that way, but I just stared straight ahead. Eyes on the road, two hands on the wheel.

When he finally got off the phone, I said, "it must be difficult to be a scientist and a business man."
"Yeah," he said.

And that is pretty much how the car ride went there and back. I asked him questions about the lab industry, about his family, where he worked before coming to Nichols Institute, about the human genome project (which I know very little about), about anything I could possibly think of. He willingly answered my questions, with simple answers. He did not elaborate or ask me any return questions. We did not actually have any semblance of conversation at all. Just long pauses, me asking a question, and him giving a simple answer - - for two hours. It was far less peaceful than the rain had made me feel that morning. It just eventually made me feel more sleepy.

His lecture, however, was outstanding and there was a large turn out with good responses. Dr. S____ was pleased as well, but admonished me on the way home that I should have had marketing materials to pass out at the end of the lecture (that may have been somewhat conversational for a few seconds). I did not want to hand out marketing materials, but I guess a guy who is passionate about his lab work really wants to push it. All in all, everything worked out.

I hope it rains again tonight. I hope I get to redo this morning tomorrow and follow the rain's prompts to unwind and breathe a sigh of relief tomorrow.

My Shoes

Post-Run Brunch

I believe I have mentioned on this blog before how much I revel in a Sunday Morning activity, (if I fell in to routines, this would be it), of a long canyon run and then home to listen to "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" on the radio while I eat a nice, big breakfast -- three of many of my favorite activities (this particular Sunday began with a cup of coffee in bed and an article of fiction read out of "The New Yorker" magazine before my run. Some more of my favorite activities). Since my three teenagers now sleep to almost noon on Sunday, I virtually have the morning to myself.

I love to make a big brunch on Sundays as well, with waffles, or French Toast, or some other high carb breakfast goodness for the family. However, I was craving something more substantial this Sunday and cooked shrimp and vegetables (with garlic, oh the garlic!) while pouring batter into the waffle maker and stirring bubbly fruit compote on the stove.

You may notice in the above photo, just lurking behind the plate, is the beer I had with my breakfast. Need I advertise that fact? I had one left-over Italian beer in my fridge from the party we had last weekend, and for some reason, a beer after a long run, even if it is 11:00 am on a Sunday morning, can be a nice thing. I don't know what it is . . . maybe it's the combo of endorphins (an opiate type peptide produced by the central nervous system in response to pain) and dopamine (an endogenous [self made] amino acid that provides a pleasure/natural reward effect following certain behaviors) or being out alone in the beauty of the canyon maneuvering around the terrain that pairs so well with a beer; when I run my body goes on auto pilot and my thoughts, which usually come at me ten at a time and scatter all over the place, soon become linear and smooth. My runs are less about fitness and more about mental well-being. Throw in a hot shower at the end and it makes for the start of a great day!

Entire Blogosphere Stunned By Blogger's Special Weekend Post

NEW YORK—In what is being called a seminal moment in Internet history, a rare weekend post by 25-year-old blogger Ben Tiedemann on his website bentiedemanntellsall.blogspot.com rocked the 50 million-member blogosphere this Saturday. The landmark post, which updated nearly every member of the global online community on the shelf Tiedemann was building, was linked to by several thousand sites, including Daily Kos, Digg, and The New York Times. "Wow, what a special treat this was for all of us," said Talking Points Memo head blogger Joshua Micah Marshal, who, along with all other bloggers, checks Tiedemann's site every day just in case something monumental occurs. "I thought I was going to have to wait until Monday to find out if Ben decided to put [the shelf] in his bedroom or the living room. The pictures were great, too." Within two hours of going live, Tiedemann's 15-word post received 34,634,897 comments.

(Editors note: We all have to laugh at this sarcasm . . . it's a must).