Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Yard sale at SE 20th & SE Sherman (2 blocks North of Division).
Clothes, some furniture, really nice guitar and some other musical equipment, household items,books (sorry, no romance novels).

Craigslist garage sale advertisement

Learning from a Friend's Father

A good friend of mine just lost his father. I only met Tom on a few occasions over the years, but have felt quite warm toward him and my friend's mother since they joined us several months ago for one of our weekly Thursday-night-dinner-with-friends dinners.

I was saddened to hear that this man died, and was very moved by something his daughter wrote for his obituary:

Tom lived a very full life. He was a man of his word, a believer in justice, and a lover of the Green World. He lived his values every day, guided by a strong sense of ethics and a belief in the importance of kindness.

I read the obituary this morning and have been thinking about this description since then. Occasionally I read an obituary, usually of someone I did not know (even in the celebrity sense of knowing of them), and am inspired by the way the person led their life. I hope that I can take some of Tom's example to live my values, and to teach that to my child the way that Tom did with his.

Mike, I am so sorry for your loss.

Your new favorite restaurant

I interrupt your regularly scheduled diet of crafts and quotes to provide a public service announcement to my Portland-area readers, and really for anyone who might want to visit our fair city.

My pal Ellen's brother Nate has just opened a fantastic restaurant downtown: Clyde Common. While it officially opens on Tuesday, last night Chris and I joined Ellen's family at a preview dinner. We were joined by various local luminaries (including a member of a seminal punk band). Our local free weekly was there too, and apparently had a good time too.

The menu is eclectic (spicy popcorn is available, along with more classic fare) and tasty. (Poached tuna, hangar steak, a vegetarian gnocchi looking thing were all delicious) The kitchen is open, so you can get a good look at the staff at work. Despite it being so early in their lives as Clyde staff, they were looked on top of their collective game. The main floor of the restaurant is set up with several large tables (hence the "common" in Clyde Common), allowing people to chat with their neighbors. We shared a table with the musician and his wife, as well as a pastry chef and his partner. For those who dislike talking to strangers, the mezzanine will soon open, providing more private dining spaces (as well as couches, for when that date is going really well. (Smooching will be tolerated. After all, this space was once a gay club of some local renown in the pre-safe sex days.)

I checked out the staff while waiting for our food. I enjoy an open kitchen, so this is great for me. It gives me a false sense that I know what's going on in the heart of the restaurant. The only down-side is that the staff were tatooed enough that when we take my parents, once my father notices, it will be the only thing he will be able to talk about. Dad's still not over the idea that a tatoo means you are either in a rock band or (what he would refer to as) low class. Or both. (Over the years, some of his patients have been musicians. Not all of them paid their bills.)

If all this - good food, friendly and helpful staff, an inviting space, and a lovely zinc topped bar - aren't enough of a draw, after dinner you can amble over to the lobby of the Ace Hotel (in which Clyde Common is located) and jump into the conveniently located photo booth. What could be more fun than pictures of four tipsy and sated adults crammed into a small box?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

People like gambling more than they hate each other.

Willy Vlautin

Jack of all trades

...master of none

Lately I have been feeling self-conscious about the extent to which I am a dabbler. Even as people have said very nice things about some of the crafty projects I’ve posted about, discussing them publicly reminds me the extent to which I am able to SORT of do a lot of things. I am not great at any of them. I can put a felt elephant together, but it is always going to look a bit wonky. I take a lot of photos and once in a while they are presentable, but mostly I just slap up whatever crap I have snapped, despite the fact that I then cruise over to another A’s mom's and see what happens when one carefully documents one’s work. I mean, it does help that she’s got a photographer husband and some impressive equipment. And how beautiful; the work, the documentation, all of it is lovely. But oy, is it a reminder of my slap-dashiness.

And so it goes. I can write a little, but not like others. I can sew a tiny bit, but only when Stephanie holds my hand through the whole process. I do a lot of things, but none of them really well. (Ok, I am a really good editor, but given that this is neither my profession nor something I get asked to do socially a lot, it doesn't help much.)

****

This was originally going to be a post about how I am ok at a bunch of things, but not great at anything. But then I lay on the floor of Ellen's house, talking to her about blogging, why I didn't like how my stylist dried my hair, and my idea for a "jack of all trades" post. And Ellen, my biggest booster and cheerleader, talked about some of the ways she thinks I am amazing and together (and threw in that she'd like me to help her run a program, should it find grant funding) and left me feeling pumped up about myself. Because there are a lot of things I am pretty fucking amazing at. Things that I often see as flaws (Am I compulsive, or detail oriented? Messy, or just relaxed?) are also strengths.

****

And now weeks after that conversation, I am hard pressed to remember what I am so good at. (Except that editing thing. I did some kick-ass editing for a colleague yesterday.) I am trying not to worry about it too much. I mean, it is ok not to be fantastic at everything I try. If that was my requirement, I'd never try anything. (Such as the insane idea I had to make a braided rag rug from some old t-shirts. What exactly was I thinking?)

In the spirit of appreciating the effort, even if the result is not everything I want it to be, I offer a couple of things I have been working on lately:

Onesies for some babies-on-the-way


Here's my first attempt at a bag. It was a lot easier that I thought it would be, but at the rate that I sew (and rip out seams, and re-sew) it took over a week to finish. The pattern is from Amy Butler. I highly recommend her patterns, especially for the novice seamstress. The directions were very details and clear. I didn't want to tear my hair out at all over this.

Inside the bag - POCKETS!

I don't knit, I just link to cool patterns

If (unlike me) you are a knitter, you may be interested in this excellent pattern, created by my pal Stephanie and named for Ada.

Ada, a year younger and many hair follicles shorter

The pattern was also noted by Craft magazine's blog, a nice little nod to Stephanie's talent. Did I mention that she made this pattern up by herself? Stephanie is not a woman who thinks small. Unless you count the size of Ada's head at age 1.

Toeing the line

For those who have been paying attention, the great and powerful Jiro mentioned that my blog would benefit from an increased Jiro-focus. I took his comment as an opportunity to get him to offer my readers the value of his years (and years, and years) of life experience. I asked people to submit their burning questions, and one complied. Ok, two, but Jiro has declined to respond to Betsy Veal's comments ever since she scaled the wall of his compound to leave her famous ketchup souffle at his door. So that leaves one answerable question. (Seriously, what is wrong with you people? Have you no questions that need answering?)

But never mind, a question comes to us from the temperate north:

Why is my big toe more sensitive to heat than other parts of my body?

The Sage Jiro responds.

One of the more obscure beliefs of Scientology is that the galactic overlord Xenu having stubbed his toe one time too many on the galactic overlord baby’s toy train set declared that henceforth all of the evil spirits would enter through the toes, and that everyone’s first toe would “… swell larger than all of the others …” and become more sensitive to all things. This was around the same time there were several decrees about the galactic overlord poopy diapers and the galactic overlord's complaint that “I should have gotten a puppy”.

On the other hand, of course everyone knows about the belief in Swedish mysticism that the first lutefisk sprang from Odin’s big toe.

Should anyone need advice, Jiro doesn't have much to do these days. His job is a piece of cake, his child is pretty much willing to do whatever he says, and his wife, well, she's not a candidate for Stepford yet, but we're working on her. Email the advice line at nonlinear . advice @ gmail . com - what could it hurt?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Ma'am, I'm here to check your house for parasites ... apparently, you have hippies.

Eric Cartman

Go Meat!

I am not as ashamed as I should be to be completely amused by this ad:

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

When curses are directed at other people, I absolutely know for a fact that they are complete hogwash. But I'm considerably more open-minded when it comes to curses directed at me.

Allison Silverman
Have Fun

I have never had so much fun at the park

What a difference each day makes

Earlier this week I read about Hau's project to photograph an aspect of her family's life every day for a year. She encouraged her readers to participate, and almost without thinking I told her I wanted to do it. So I am. I've set up a flickr set, and put a little flickr rotating photo doohickey in my sidebar. I may also occasionally post my "365" photos to the blog.

After I set up the "365" set, I took a peek to see who else is posting using "365" as a label. Turns out lots of people are. Plus, Emily let me know about a 365 Kids group on flickr. Take a look, there is some good stuff out there.

I told Chris that I was going to do this, and he gave me a smile suggesting he recognized my desire to jump into this kind of project with great enthusiasm but maybe not too much thought. He knows I get excited and take on projects that end up having a life of their own. In this case, I have thought some about how I can realistically engage in a photo a day project. I make no promise that I will upload my daily photo to flickr every day. I can take a picture (or 30) every day, but I will need a little slack on the posting side. I will try to do it at least weekly.

As much as it makes me nervous to type this, I promise to post a photo even if I am not happy with any of the photos I take on a given day. This is going to be the hard part for me. I make no claims on being a great photographer, but I am vain. That aside, I will try to get past my discomfort to give you a daily glimpse into what is happening in my world.

Photo 1/365: Ada post-nap

So, who'll join me? It will be fun!

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

In the long run, everything is a toaster.

Bruce Greenwald

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

I usually shower before Chris leaves for work. Recently, Chris has had several early morning appointments and has had to leave at an unreasonable hour. This has left me with Ada and a need to wash my hair.

Ada is much better than she used to be about me showering on her watch (she used to cry the moment I stepped behind the shower curtain), but I still have to talk to her about what I am doing. "Look, I'm soaping my face! And now I'm rinsing the soap off."

After the shower, I got out to dry off. Ada has seen me without clothes before, and I am not concerned about her seeing me naked. (Well, except for her comments on my less than firm belly.) But today Ada regarded me with a new eye, and pointing at my pubic hair declared: "mustache". "Mustache?" I asked. Nodding, she emphatically repeated "Mustache!"

I immediately thought of this Magritte painting.

Open letter to Barak Obama

Re: How not to get me to give you money

Dear Senator Obama:

I am sure that as a busy senator and hopeful Democratic nominee for president you have no direct oversight of the organizations or individuals who phone bank for you. However, I thought you might like to know that my interaction with a caller who contacted me on your behalf has made me less likely to give you money in the future.

Last night a guy called to ask me to support your campaign. I told him that I would not donate until you had a real plan for universal health care in the U.S.A. (health care access is my thing, and since every other Democratic candidate seems to have a plan, it doesn't seem too much to ask.) The guy responded: "He TOTALLY has a plan!" and hung up. Maybe it's me, but insulting and hanging up on potential donors doesn't seem like a great way to get them feeling the wallet-opening love.

I am sure the call was not random, as I have given money to Democratic candidates in the past and am on various lists of left-leaning, bleeding heart tree-huggers. It seems like a bad policy for the people reaching out to me (and my credit card) to insult or annoy me. Maybe you know better, I mean, you did raise $25 million so far from 108,000 contributors. So maybe this "piss off the donor" thing is working for you. But just in case it isn't the thing for everyone (except me), I thought you might want to suggest your phone bank managers do a little training.

Sincerely,

Nonlinear (I still won't contribute until you have a plan for universal health care) Girl


Edited to add: I sent a (slightly less churlish) note to the campaign via the website, and this morning got a form-email completely unrelated to what I'd told them. The email was super rah-rah, yay for us, and for you (assumed contributor to this presidential campaign juggernaut). I did learn that he actually had 104,000 (not 108,000) first quarter contributors, so at least I got a little fact-checking out of it.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week (Susie Edition)

photo by my pal Susie

So now every time I see the ugly doll that Ada likes, I think of new my puss lyrics. Like this one:

My puss teach Harvard classes
Your puss emit greenhouse gasses

-Susie

Eggstravaganza

Thank goodness for the Stute Fish and Mother-Woman. If I had not seen the cool photos of their lovely egg decorations, I would not have remembered to download the pictures from our visit to eggland Ada's grandparents' house. But lucky for both you and me, I did see their pictures. After hosting a wonderful (and woefully unphotographed) late Passover seder on Saturday, the nonlinear family headed down the road to search out an array of real and plastic eggs. Sadly, most of the photos look something like this:



or this:



Yup, some of those dyed eggs leaked. And a blue and purple marbled egg would be really cool, if I hadn't peeled it intending to eat it. But I challenge you to hold up a blue and purple marbled egg and bite into it. I know the dye is food safe, but there is just something about neon blue that screams "DO NOT EAT!" So I didn't.

Despite this photograph, Ada had a great time hunting for eggs. She really enjoyed the hunt, and her grandparents did a perfect job of "hiding" eggs for her. Plus, the more I see of it, the more I understand what a racket this whole series of Christian holidays is. For easter Ada got real eggs (lovingly dyed by her grandparents, uncle and her beloved almost-cousin), plastic eggs filled with raisin packets, tiny oval playing cards, silly putty and play-doh, plus a soft white sheep (cryptically dubbed "goat"). Oh, and a basket. Plus a little chocolate and a full satisfying dinner of ham, ham and more ham. (For a girl who has been much pickier of late, she can really pack it in when she likes something.)

Lest you think that we spent all week peeling and discarding blue eggs, I share this as evidence that we also worked in the garden. And by "worked" I mean that Ada asked to see worms, which I dutifully dug up and presented to her so that she could touch them and then demand that I put them "home" (back in the dirt).

Got insomnia? I might know why

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Dennis Mitsubishi, where every Friday is Fatah Friday, with free rubber swords for all the kiddies. Our prices are lower than the evildoers' every day - just ask the Pope.

As reported in Harpers Magazine (March 2007), from a preview radio advertisement for Dennis Mitsubishi in Columbus, Ohio leaked to the media in September 2006. (After the Council on American-Islamic Relations issued a protest, the ad was cancelled.)

Treasuring Toddlers Tiptoeing through the Tulips

Welcome to my home among the tulips
I learned an important parenting lesson in a tulip field: when you are in a scenic, pastoral setting in which you want nothing more than to take an adorable photo of your child frolicking amid gorgeous flowers, your child will do everything in his or her power to make that impossible.


Lucky for me, I did not have to learn this the hard way. I took in this lesson several years ago, when my mother-in-law and I went to see the tulips in bloom at a local farm. We watched (and laughed) as parent after parent plopped down their child (or two or three) amid the tulips, crouched to take a picture, only to find the child not cooperating in capturing the moment. What inevitably ensued was some version of the parent yelling/commanding/cajoling: "look over here/smile at mommy/don't pull that/stop eating mud/no eating flowers/turn around/stop crying". It was a near universal experience for the parents and children attending the tulip festival that year. I appreciate those parents, because their pain was my lesson learned.





Monkey Boy makes a break for it

With this in mind, I had low expectations about what photos I could capture on my own trip to the farm with Ada, Monkey Boy and J (and their moms). Going into the excursion with such a limited goal made it more fun for me (if not for the others in my little party).

The intensity of her love for the little house can not be overstated.
The tulip farm has a child-friendly area, with a big hay bale hill (with tube slide), a sandbox, a fake cow to rope, Dutch wooden shoes to try on, a "cow" ride, and (Ada's favorite) a child-sized house. We spent much of our visit in and around this little house. It gave Ada so much pleasure to be there, enough to make up for the screams of outrage that accompanied my attempt to change her diaper before she floated away in her own pee. Made up for the complaints about the length of the car ride (about 40 minutes), and almost made up for the highly abbreviated nap that followed the outing.

Look, a picture with actual tulips in it!

Toddler unpredictability aside, the tulip farm was a fun outing. Even better if you can go during the week, when there are fewer crowds and the parking is free.