The space in between

I've been thinking about the spaces in between, the silent pauses. The space in between where there can be hesitation, uncertainty, hope, procrastination, or maybe things we just can't know.

The space between jubilation on New Year's Day, celebration of a long-awaited football bowl game win. And a handful of moments later, a call from a telephone number that you know will bring news from afar, from hospice, that the end has come.

The space in between for a friend, finding a lump, and then tests and waiting and fear, and then knowing. What happens in the space between all that and the deciding to share that knowledge and fear?

We return back to wonder about these spaces, causing yet another pause. This moment of wonder becomes its own space in between. What happened in the universe and in us? How can we share our support for a person's journey, when we realize how far they've traveled without sharing it with us? Could we have been there? Could we have known? Could we have made a difference? How can we live differently? 

Should we? 

The spaces in between seem empty because we don't know what happened, and yet we what we do realize is that they're full, very full, of life, of impulses, struggles, sometimes just full of raw, adrenalized instinct. 

That pause, as someone tries to find the words to continue their half of the conversation. We ourselves clear our throats and search for words. That's a little space in between. And how much happens in that instant that we cannot even know, as we do it ourselves? 

So, too, yes, there has been a long space in between, here, filled with life, deep thoughtfulness and split instinct, struggle and celebration; plenty of adventures. In the space in between, I've thought of the stories that could evolve from these spaces -- my spaces -- how the words and ideas floated in my head, stories and threads. “What a great story this will make!”, I'd think, and I'd play with words for a little bit. Maybe the ideas and threads will come to together eventually with a definite structure, with words, pixels, text and images. 

Or, maybe not.

The space in between has been long. I have enjoyed just being in that space, to be truthful, living my life and not spending the energy to organize them in pixels and bits, letters and spaces. And at the same time, I've also missed sharing the stories and taking my place in this wide circle, part of a larger storytelling group.

And here, one more pause. Just after pressing the period key, a slight space in between that and reaching over my mouse, to click the “Publish” button. 

Then, *click*.

- - -  

On January 1, 2013, my Northwestern Wildcats won their first post-season bowl game in over 60 years. You know how much I love my Wildcats! Woohoo!
Moments later, we learned that J's mom had slipped away ... Peace.

Sending love to my blog buddy, Karen.

Sakura

I'd been thinking of cherry blossoms, as I usually do this time of year, and had an idea that needed to be acted upon. So I ordered sakura paper punches ...


... that arrived on the 11th or so. Wouldn't you know.




And where I might normally let new art toys sit a while, to get acclimated to their surroundings ...



there was a flurry of punching and gluing and sewing that just absolutely needed to happen...
as a salve for the sadness. Of all that happened, March 11th, 2011.

Puncha puncha puncha.

Wistful Wednesday

Last night, I sat through the presentation of my school's new mission statement and strategic plan. I've been involved with writing mission statements several times in my past, individually and as part of a group, and you know how that tends to go, don't you? You end up with lots of words. Paragraphs with lots and lots of words that talk about 'this is what we do'. You start waving your hands in the air, as if to abbreviate words with gestured circles in space. There comes a point where the words smother the energy of purpose and intent, and all that's left is a wispy strand of smoke – – you could try to capture that, but in grasping at it, you completely break up its form and energy. Eyes glaze over.

Luckily, what we have, from a flashing spark of inspiration and a flurry of energized email messages, is a message that seems to resonate with the school.

Learn to Create. Influence Change.

I like it. I don't have to refer back to my employee handbook to recite it. Would anyone actually make me recite it? Is that what it would come to? I don't think so. But I can rely on it to guide me. I can push and pull at it to meet changing demands and situations I run into with my students; it can be a steady compass pointing to our True North. And beyond the words themselves, I am even more appreciative of the collaborative, passionately creative spirit in which this phrase was crafted.

For the record, its subtitle, one that I really liked, sadly did not make the cut: Nothing rhymes with Orange.

Oh well.

So, I was sitting there, listening to the ideas and pillars, the plans, the challenges, the call to challenge ourselves as an institution, as we challenge our students, to be doggedly rigorous in tackling the task at hand.

Whew.

And there's the mission statement, that is plain and strong, yet, as our President commented, leaves plenty of room to breathe.

Room. To. Breathe.

And then I sat there, listening to the words, thankful for our president's background in theater, the passion and conviction, the pauses, the tempo and cadence. In a community where we are all so very keenly sensitive to visual expression, what an experience it is to have someone who will speak with as much expression, for us to be delighted in a different way, another path way to our souls.

So, if you come back and find me pondering about how people learn to create and how we can teach to influence change, or musing about how nothing rhymes with Orange, that's where that comes from.

And, for the record, nothing really rhymes with Purple, either.

===


At Art Center, we have 14–week terms (three per year), and graduate at the end of each term. The beginning of each term is brimming with newness, new students wandering the halls, looking more than a little dazed, learning skills in the machine shop and lugging around oversized drawing boards. The middle of the term is weary: midterm presentations. The last two weeks are a mad frantic sprint: final projects needing to be both physically created and orally presented, the wild, chaotic explosion that ultimately cleans itself up as Graduation Show. The end of the term is anxious with interviews and bittersweet in seeing another group of young artists and designers leave. The 14 weeks seem to go quicker and quicker each term, and while there is a rhythm to the peaks and lulls, let me tell you, it's not like the rolling of the ocean (imagine my hands waving, hula-like, gesturing: 'The ocean") –- it's a rollercoaster. It all starts to blur together, and boy, has the time gone by quickly.

So, for your reference, we're well into Spring term, in the post-midterm lull of week 8.

I've been reading and editing resumes, introductory letters and personal statements, because, well, that's what I do about week 8 of each term. I spend a lot of time asking people to think: What do you really enjoy doing? What do you want to pursue? What can you show as examples of the skills you say you have? How can we help create a compass for you, so you can go out and earn a living and, well, influence change?

I probe and ask 'Why?' a lot. I press and have students dig, to tell the stories —their stories — so that others will remember them. I build trust and comfort, so that secrets can bubble up: 'What I really want to say is this…'. We work so that poignant stories and unexpressed yearnings can find a strong and certain voice.

Right. That's what I do.

Driving home, I smirked to realize that I was wishing for a little bit of that myself: time to sit and think and talk through the ideas – – to someone else. You see the last three paragraphs before this one? I haven't quite figured out how to put those ideas neatly onto my resume. What do you I really enjoy doing? What do you I want to pursue? What examples can you I show? What's the unexpressed yearning?

[sigh]

You can only get so far talking to yourself, driving in the darkness, headed east on the 210.

I know, because, well, that's what I do.

With mayo and mustard

I once commented that this blog is actually about procrastination. Or maybe about starting lots of things that eventually go unfinished. There's an excited rush I get, thinking of all the possibilities –  all of them –  gathering up the supplies and just daydreaming about them being done.
I know I'm not alone in this.

So, I'm doing two things right now, to get more athletic activity into my days. Yes, two. How impulsive, huh? Somewhat paradoxically, these are meant to get me to settle into a more committed routine and to train for longer term events.

I'm doing Marianne Elliott's '30 Days of Yoga'. You answer questions in a survey about what you want from a yoga practice, what your body and soul need, and Marianne creates a video sequence for you to practice, yes, during the next 30 days. I'd been doing a very gentle form of yoga up to now, and the sequence I received has been a nice challenge. Marianne is supportive, in her videos and messages.
Sadly, I've only done the sequence twice, and another, from another instructor, once. My 30 Days of Yoga has been spotty, at best.
Marianne wrote in one of her weekly messages:
Bindu Wiles once said:

Often, beginnings and endings are easy. They are filled with a natural enthusiasm and volition where we move into things with lots of energy and ease, and complete things with a certain flare and celebration for what we’ve accomplished or gotten through.
Middles, not so much. Middles tend to be difficult and our enthusiasm naturally wanes. It’s easy to lose focus and make excuses and even completely drop the ball.

---

One of the things I do at school is prepare our graduates for on-campus interviews. The interviews are in a speed-dating format. The idea is to allow the students to meet as many recruiters as possible and they're given about 10 –  15 minutes with each company that participates in on-campus recruiting. I spend a good deal of time having the students present their projects in shorter, more abbreviated chunks to be better able to highlight their skills and accomplishments in that time. It's not about talking faster; it's about hitting all your key points while still showing your personality and your passion for design. You have about 10 minutes, then the recruiters all rotate one person over, and you do this over and over, until you've finally talked to everyone that's there. If there's a potential for a good match, a company will schedule a longer, more traditional interview with the student.

Before all the interviewing gets started, the students introduce themselves to the group. I find it interesting that many of the students are very confident talking about their work, but a bit flustered when they have to talk about themselves. So, in the weeks before graduation and interviews, we talk, one on one, and talk, and eventually very meaningful stories from their backgrounds emerge. One of the introductions from this term used this nice analogy about this particular student's interests:

I really like the end and the beginning: the inspiration and research and ideation, as well as the execution of an idea –  –  making it real and tangible. But, I think about the process as a sandwich. The beginning and end are like pieces of bread. It's all good, but the inside is also the meaty part; it's what makes the sandwich. So, while I love the start and end, I also enjoy working through the middle part of the process, because otherwise, really, I'm just eating two pieces of bread.

I thought:
“Wow, that's really thoughtful and almost poetic”, and then,
“Hey, wait a minute! I'd be good with just two pieces of bread!”

I find this idea of following through recurring through my week.

It's about trying to create new habits, shoehorning them in to an existing schedule of habits, or just replacing some of the old with the new. A Dagwood sandwich sounds great – you could have everything. But is that what we really need? The way I see it, I often create open-face sandwiches, one piece of bread with lots of ham and cheese, lettuce and tomato; Lots of starting but a struggle to finish.

Oh, for the want of that second slice of bread…
I'm just going to say this: I'm working on it.

---

The other thing I'm getting back into is running. I tried to find previous posts on running my 5k's and didn't find much. I have to say I've had spotty support for my running; but this time, I have even better motivation and a plan to share in my training and get a bit more encouragment. Stay tuned.

Twisty thoughts

20100707_BreadTab Click to see this photo's flickr page
I was toasting my toast, uh, bread the other morning, squinting at the bread bag tab. As with many things in life, I thought, "Ooh, I should save this and draw it".

Yes, this explains the many random things collected around here.

I figured I'd be drawing a nice, small, flat squarish tab: easy peasy. And then, squinting even more, I went, "Hey! What's with all these contortions?! All these extra little teeth! What?!".

When was the last time you looked at a bread bag tab, up close? When did closing up and securing a bag of bread become so serious and complex a task?

I've discovered that in matters of bread bag closing, when we get down to the last 4 or so pieces of bread, the tag disappears. Either it breaks, I'm guessing, or it flies off and disappears into the gap between the stove and the countertop, or someone else [ahem] is too impatient to twist the bag tightly enough to fit the bag through the hole of the tab. It's quite an art, holding the bag at its end with one hand, then giving the bread a good healthy twirl and watching the bag spin itself tightly enough so that you can wedge it all back into the little plastic tab. There are small flourishes in every day life, and for me, watching that bread bag twirling is one of them. 

So, after having to correct my drawing so that it more accurately reflects what I'm seeing and pondering it all, I'm guessing the tabs on the outsides are part of some continuous manufacturing. They seem like the little nubs left and right would fit and lock into place, side by side. I can imagine these being stamped out or being injection molded, by the gazillions. Ka-chung, ka-chung, ka-chung.

But those extra teeth in the actual cinching hole?

Life really has gotten to be quite a challenge, hasn't it, that we need just a little bit more tooth, to keep everything tied together, to protect what we have when there's just a little bit of ourselves left that we're trying to keep tidy, to keep things from falling out or drying up...

It's serious business, this little bread bag tab, and this life.

Remembering Norm

[Wherein we confirm that my choice in words sometimes has very little to do with what they actually mean to everyone else, but much more what they mean, apparently, just to me]

On Sunday, March 21, the first day of spring, my school lost one of its most beloved instructors, Norm Schureman. I received a message from one of my classmates, and by the time I’d called her back and returned to plug into the internet, there was already a message from the school president relaying the very sudden and tragic news and a flurry of posts on Facebook.

The past ten days have been hard for the school, for our department (I teach in the same department as Norm), and for our students. There’s been an outpouring of support in ways that no one could have quite imagined. There was an impromptu memorial service the very next evening. A physical memorial of student work grew to stretch almost the full length of the bridge walkway on campus, with sketches (copies as well as original work), cards, projects, notes and photos taped to the railing, throughout the week. There were flowers and candles, messages scrawled with chalk on the walkway, a six-pack of beer. Last Sunday, the school hosted a formal service and reception. We estimate that over a thousand people attended, some flying in from out-of-state, some from overseas. Hundreds more logged into the live webcast.

I’ve had people comment about mourning a colleague, that from the outpouring of emotion, the group must have been remarkably close. I forget sometimes, that there’s work that goes from 9 until 5. In school and in teaching, you learn quickly that interactions don’t work when classes end; the learning doesn’t stop at 5pm, or 10pm, or even after Friday, or ever. I’ve been lucky, a few times, also, to have worked with people that you genuinely … like. The faculty and staff in our department were best of friends; not just co-workers. It’s been sad and hard to continue on; it’s been hard to accept that this idea that Norm is gone.

For Norm’s service, our department chair asked for words, just descriptive words, that she could share. I’d been mulling over this for a while. What I would take from my experiences with Norm? My word, I decided, is ‘fierce’. J asked me, “Don’t you mean ‘fiesty’, perhaps?”. Norm was fiesty, indeed. But he was fierce.

Norm expected a lot from his students. In design, you communicate visually through sketches: you draw. A lot. In a school reknown for its design programs, you don’t just learn to draw, but you learn to draw like a fiend. We had drawing/sketching classes for at least three of our four years there. Compare this with the 1–1/2 to maybe 2 years of math I took when I studied engineering. Drawing is as fundamental as, say,  breathing. After we had learned to draw the basic shapes and could render them in appropriate materials, then we got Norm, and he taught us to draw dynamically, and passionately, with our own voices, confident and strong. He held the standard high. He was tough, but supportive and caring and always had us coming back for more. Did I mention Norm was tough? I admit that it took me a long, long time to warm up to his brand of tough love.

The other thing you learn in design is to think. You have to think broadly and quickly, without boundaries, then be able to assess your options and choose the best ones to go forward with. The other core classes Norm taught were Design Process and the beginning Product Design courses. He taught us to stretch, to follow through with our strongest ideas, then build them to make them real. We’d present our ideas and he’d pause, pull his glasses down the bridge of his nose and peer at us over those glasses, intensely, challenging us, without even saying a word. Everyone experienced that look; we all wanted to rise to meet the challenge; we all wanted that hearty smile and hug that affirmed for us that we’d done a great job. There is a lot of work you can go through to make yourself happy and satisfied with the final project for any given class. There are few other instructors, though, that we’d work so much harder to please and impress as Norm. We learned to think, all right.

So, Norm was imbedded in classes that are at the very core of what industrial designers do, the very heart of what you’d learn at school when you study industrial design. I imagine that he touched every student that’s gone through our department in the last 20 years. His father taught and continues to teach at Art Center. His nephew just graduated from the department, as well. His family truly is part of our larger, extended family.

What I came to observe and understand was Norm’s deep commitment. He was fierce, in his dedication to our school, to our department, and above all, to his students. That ‘Norm’ look? It was intense – it gave you a window into the fire that burned, yes, fiercely deep in him. And at our graduation shows - no one was prouder than Norm. His love for his family, his friends, of all of nature around him, of life itself – it was all deep, heartfelt and intense.

In looking up the definition, I suppose there are components of fierceness that are not so flattering in this instance: violent, aggressive, angry, menacingly wild, savage, hostile.

Okay, right. So, that is not what I had in mind.

I’d go with the option that reads “Extremely intense or ardent” except that, for me, it lacks a bravery and immediacy. The words feel a bit detached, a bit sterile. Even the modern slang entry “really good” is lacking.

For me, I have to ignore the definition I find on my screen and go with the definition I feel in my gut, the image that I see in my mind’s eye. The word ‘fierce’ works because it gives me a sense of spirit that Norm possessed, that he passed on to everyone around him, that now lives in all of us. We are all just a little bit more fierce in what we do because of what Norm gave us.

He gave us a lot.
And we sure do miss him, something fierce.

Locked and loaded

Someone wrote me and asked, “So are you updating this thing or not?!”.

I, um, decided to go on sabbatical. I found myself, somewhere along the way, going through my days, thinking of how I would narrate everything, put our adventures into words; what witty things I’d sprinkle in. I found myself a bit detached, like a third party looking in, when really I should be doing the living and hiking and painting of it all. It makes for good stories, but I want to enjoy what I have in the first-person and truly be the hero of my own story.

Another thing that happened is harder to explain. I understand that blogs and photos are all the heck open to the whole wide Internet. Even knowing that, I was surprised to realize is how unsettled I felt to think about the unkind people in my life, reading my words, peering into our lives, coming along with us on our vacations.

‘Unkind’?
Yes. Unkind in ways that has someone excitedly say how damn good it is to hear that my relationship (at the time) sucked, because she was sick and tired of getting my Christmas cards and reading how lovely and hunkydory my life was in the Valley, and how good it was to hear that I’m actually horribly miserable like the rest of everyone else.

Yeah. I went, “Heh?”

Unkind in ways like a person gets invited to my (newly single again) 40th birthday party - - a small, quiet party with people I treasure - - and bellows, “Are there going to be any HOT chicks here?!”

Yeah, seriously.

Unkind in those kinds of ways. Not in ways like they lurk and don’t comment. That’s okay. That’s just being introverted. I know what that’s like.

Sure, once you press 'Publish', it’s all out there. It’s a strange thing to be talking to someone and then to realize that they know way more about you than you know about them (in that creepy sort of way), and you think, "Wow, it really is just all out there". I started to feel these people peering in from the outside, their eyes following me left and right, their warm breath fogging up the windows outside my house, watching my life for entertainment, but not cheering any of my adventures or any of the many, small, hard-fought victories. I’d be reminded of them every now and again, in real life: “Oh, hello”.

It was like you finally decide to clean your windows, then find smudged nose prints all over the place, at a height that you know you couldn’t have made yourself. It’s kind of a creepy, unclean feeling.

[I suppose it’s also like realizing that those racy pictures from your Las Vegas trip that you posted on Facebook are searchable by people at places you’re trying to get a job at, but not quite.
This is what I hear, at least.]

You’re going, “Oh, man! Those people SO do not matter!”.

Yeah, yeah.

So I’ve been working, you see, on loading up my rifle and scaring away the unkind people, cleaning my windows of the reminders of their grubby fingers and noses. I’ve come to a place, finally, where I’ve missed you more than I’m upset about being followed around by ghosts of unkind people.

I’ve missed my bloggy buddies, new and old.

You know the secret knock to get in. Don’t mind the Big Bear. And if you feel like it, yes, please do bring along your weapon of choice. xox

All is said and Done

Epilogue, part 1

When we settled in at McDonald Creek, we found that where there had been a TV in the cabins before, there was none. Oh, my. We found ourselves missing our TV, Sports Center, and, it turns out, the internet. The people in the next cabin over were really missing their Reality TV, apparently. As they walked past our cabin window, they couldn’t help but stop, quite intentionally, to peer in and see what we were up to. For a good long, uncomfortable while. As if it were a perfectly normal, polite thing to do. What’s wrong with people?

The big pane glass window became an easy surrogate for our TV, as we watched the people go by, gazed out at the creek and pondered J’s Mustang. Not having a TV, not having insistent white noise in the background or a continuous barrage of information took a while to get used to. We quickly slowed down to enjoy the birds singing at dusk, the swallows flitting about above the lake, the sweet perfume of the lilac bushes around the cabins, and to find comfort in the sounds of the creek, the rain on the roof and the click and creak of the electric heaters in the darkness of night. There’s purposefulness in the manual engagement of doing dishes into a small dish rack and having to wipe them to clear off a space on the dining table to work, rather than letting them air dry. Thankfully, there’s time to slow down and decompress, and we know well enough to take it. It also lets you consider the possibility of the new. And no matter what things you miss from home, no matter how far you are from home, where you ARE, is home.


Epilogue, part 2

With all the rattling, I gave it a week, but within 48 hours of being home, J put the Mustang out to pasture back at the local Ford ranch.

Old Yeller is no more.

My Roaming Bear now has new wheels:

New wheels Click to see this photo's flickr page

With 4-doors and more cargo capacity and leg room, we’re just itching to take it out for a spin. Somewhere, out there.

The dusty trails call.

Up the Coast and then turn Right

TrinidadBay1

We drove north until Redding then headed west for the Coast. I didn’t realize that the 101 went all the way north! We stopped along the way, roaming as we do, through bays and beaches. We stopped for lunch at Trinidad Bay, had a great sourdough bread bowl of clam chowder and wandered over to the bluffs above the bay to take some photos.

What a great sunny day.

Down below us, a sea critter was lying, just where the surf met the beach.


TrinidadBay2_critter

We thought aloud,
Me: “Is it sleeping? Or is it ...”
J: “... dead?”.

Simultaneous grimaces.

A flipper lazily moved and we both thought, “Whew, just sleeping”.

Our thoughts lifted and we enjoyed the quiet of the town, the sound of the surf, clang of bells and rigging lines, the birds and creaks as people moseyed along the pier. The hillsides were covered with wildflowers, all so different than I’m used to, all the more different, new and delightful.

Redwoods1

We spent just a bit of time driving through the Redwoods. I didn’t realize that there’s no real camping and that the parks and forests are preserves. No long, all-day hikes on trails that criss-cross the land? No, I guess not. We took a few short walks on trails, enough to really enjoy the greenness of the ferns that grow thick and lush beneath the majestic redwoods.

Lots of ferns means lots of moisture, and to me, this means blood-sucking bugs! Bugs!! We enjoyed our quick visit and drove on. Places to go!

As we drove further north, we finally got into country where huckleberry grows. And where huckleberry grows, huckleberry ice cream is sold!
A sign commanded, “Avoid calcium deficiency; Eat Ice Cream!”

Who are we to disobey?

---
All the photos are here.

Up out of the fog

June apparently was an unusually cool month here in Southern California. After being away in 60 degree temperatures, and now sweating through the high 90’s, it’s hard to remember that.

Last summer, I took an online travel writing class. I enjoy starting online classes! It’s the finishing part that’s a bother. Since there was an actual certificate for completing this particular class and since this meant that there were required weekly tests, I actually stuck with the entire class. By the time I finished the class, we’d already done most of our travelling for the summer, and I was disappointed to have let it all slip by so quickly, so mindlessly.

One of the books that I discovered through the class was “The Way of the Traveler” by Joseph Dispenza. It’s helped me prepare for this summer’s travels and to really focus on documenting what’s going by on the side of the road and what’s going by inside my head. So, although I’m having a hard time remembering how cool it was just a month ago, I do have 16 pages of notes in a little Moleskine pocket sketchbook to remind me.

We left my meeting at school and drove off into the cool fog that hung late that afternoon and set off headed north. We eventually rose out of the fog just past Santa Clarita and enjoyed driving through hills bathed in the sensuous waning golden rays of a typical California sunset. We passed through fields and farm; the actual identity of the shadowy critters and crop unidentifiable in the dark.

We drove through Sacramento (one of several State capitols that we’d pass through in two weeks) and at almost 2 am called it a day and settled into a hotel in the next town north. It was the first of many long days; long in time and in distance.

Bleary-eyed, I noted with amusement that all the toiletries were packaged to be succinctly marked, yet still very refined. Containers marked:
Smooth (conditioner)
Cleanse (soap)

And even the pillows were embroidered along the hems of their cases: Firm, soft.

As my head hit my pillow (Firm), I thought, “If only the rest of life could be so well-defined.”

Foreword : Forward

Click to see this photo's flickr page

We’ve wrapped up our road trip to Glacier National Park, all except for documenting the photos and putting together a scrapbook (which I’m hoping this will kick off). The last few days were busy with scurrying back and forth to pick up last-minute travel-sized items for a two-week road trip. The day that I’d planned to start rolling up my clothes and cramming packing them into my duffle, I also checked on my laptop. The thin plastic skin that covered my battery for my current USB modem was bulging out and looked ready to explode, so although it still worked well, I ordered a new model. When it arrived, I figured I’d make the swap and be good to go.

My laptop would have nothing of it.
Nothing.
I encouraged it, nudged it, begged, smacked it and cursed.

Nothing.

I spent the last two days before our trip not exactly packing as intently as I’d wanted, frantically going to two laptop repair shops only to confirm the nasty horrible prognosis:

I needed to reinstall my operating system.

Ugh! I methodically backed up my data and, biting the bullet, reinstalled my operating system. I glumly stared at my laptop, then glanced at my disheveled duffle bag and backpack and thought, “Ugh!”

The Windows CD stopped spinning as it completed installation of the operating system just minutes before we needed to leave for my last meeting, from which we’d head out onto the road. I spent the first few nights on the road reinstalling software and making sure I could reconnect to the internet, a barebones, but working, stopgap for the full productive connectivity I’d hoped for.

A few more days in, lazily staring out at crops that we were passing by, I realized, of course, that had I waited until we were already on the road to switch over to the new modem, I would have been completely sunk. I wouldn’t have had the Windows disks and software. We’d be hauling around a hefty black Dell brick, totally unusable. So for all the inconvenience and stress, it’s just as well things happened the way they did. And, amazingly enough, I did still have all the system and driver disks to take along, as well as all the software disks, too. I’ve finally, almost 4 weeks later, installed the drivers, and my laptop is about where it should be. Things all work out, in the end.

There was also something remarkably liberating about the idea that my laptop is new, a chance to organize my files better, install just what I need and use, and to move old files directly into archives.
Sometimes when it’s really least convenient, you find that what’s best is to start all over; nothing’s quite working as efficiently as it should anyway. New things aren’t fitting in and you can’t even get to the old stuff to reference or enjoy it. It’s a great leap of faith to know when you’ve really backed up all that you need to, to place your hands on the guiding programs that you’ll need and then go, “Okay, let’s start from scratch!”

And life, I thought, not just our computers, is like that.

Having to grit my teeth and clean my slate was a good challenge to go through, and a fitting foreword to the trip, to Glacier and hopefully, to the rest of the summer.

Hug a Teacher

20090503_Hug_a_Teacher Click to see this photo's flickr page

Did you know this is Teacher Appreciation Week?

- Teachers put together individual AP exam baggies, sharpening all those 120 pencils and adding in LifeSavers, for good measure.
- Teachers take homemade cookies, granola bars, fresh grapes and juice packs to their students the weekend they're putting together their graduation show, because we know that the cafeteria is closed on Sundays, and that that last Sunday is a very long, very tough one.
- Teachers write letters of recommendation.
- Teachers write letters of recommendation for students to attend graduate programs that perhaps we should be attending, ourselves.
- Teachers stay up late, writing tests and answer keys.
- Teachers stay up late, grading those tests.
- Teachers stand physically tough, when their school is under siege.
- Teachers stand emotionally tough, when their school is under siege, sometimes from within.
- Good teachers know not to show bias and encourage kids from the other, rival schools. Even when they beat our own students.
- Teachers stay late to understand what it is that makes each student special.
- Teachers stay late to meet each student's parent that comes for Open House night.
- Teachers worry about budgets and funding, about standardized testing, about tuition and scholarships, about enrollment, about graduate job placement opportunities.
- Teachers have to stand and field questions like, "Was is worth it? Was the price of this education worth it?" and hope that we've trained our students well enough to be willing to try to answer all the tough questions that will come through their lives, for themselves.
- Teachers discipline, comfort, focus and, hopefully, inspire.
- Teachers shape our future.

So maybe today, or maybe at the end of the school year, show your appreciation. We appreciate the flowers, the chocolate, the Chai Tea mix, the sweater (?), and the fancy desk pen sets. We have a growing, very mismatched set of "Hug a Teacher" coffee mugs.

The one thing that teachers will keep, though, tucked away in our year books is this:
The letters of thanks.

So do this: Sit down and write a letter to show your appreciation. Be generous with your gratitude. Did your teachers inspire you? Did they make a difference?
Yes?
Let them know.

Conference marginalia

20090425_WDC_notes

I attended a district design conference which was held in Santa Monica, right here in LA. There were a lot of good talks and great ideas to take away from two days worth of presentations. After each of the past few conferences, I’ve tried to track down articles that might summarize either the salient points or maybe describe the overall experience, going beyond the presentations themselves.

Lots of people take notes (or in this particular case, since they’re designers, maybe they’re drawing…), but I don’t know how well any of the information gets shared, back at the office, if at all. I’m trying to decipher my own notes and hope to be able to share at least some of the meatier thoughts with my colleagues. We always wish that we could get digital copies of the presentations, but would that really help? The longer I wait, the harder it is to recapture the sense of urgency and passion of the speakers.

I found this on a table in the back of the main room and had to stop to take a photo of it. I’m not sure what it says about the attendee or the speaker. At a casual glance, I admit, it doesn’t seem to speak well of how things might have been going on-stage. After musing about it for a couple days, though, I think this represents the best part of conferences. You can’t predict or capture the marginalia – all the side conversations, chance meetings, and random thoughts that the presentations inspire.

It’s tough to get everyone together and involved in a region as vast as Los Angeles, but it's clear that it really is a small community. There was a lot of catching up, shaking hands, trading hugs and/or punches on shoulders, and talkin’ smack challenging neighboring offices to basketball games.

Good times.

Spider's Web

20090330_knees Click to see this photo's flickr page

A Noiseless Patient Spider

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

- Walt Whitman

Find more poems for your pocket: www.poets.org/pocket. Choose one and carry it in celebration of National Poetry Month!

This is the first poem I landed on when picking a Pocket Poem (enough alliteration for you?). I love the imagery of venturing and seeking connections, building bridges across the emptiness. Some days it does feel like I’m flinging myself out there, casting lines to see what and who are out there. I’m delighted at all the wonderful art and writing I’ve found, the people I’ve had a chance to connect with. People have always said that it’s a small world. Perhaps the world is as broad as it always has been, but the distances between us certainly aren’t as difficult to cross.

I got home last night and plunked down to watch the news. J asked if I had heard about this huge big-rig wreak that happened here in Southern California. I saw the images and immediately knew, “Oh, that’s Foothill Blvd.” And then, thinking back on my day, I realized that I had thought about stopping by Descanso Gardens to pass the time on my way to school. My drive would have likely taken me past that intersection, about the time of the accident. The news reporters’ voice broke through my train of thought, talking about the bookstore that the rig had ploughed into. I thought out loud, “Oh, that’s someplace my buddy Karen would hang out”. And then, I blinked and thought: Oh no. Karen. I hope she’s okay.

I sent a hurried email, and thought to check Facebook. Karen is okay. Whew. But the bookstore, indeed, is where Karen has her artwork on display. She suspects the worst for her paintings, but we all feel even more sorrow for the lives lost, the businesses and livelihoods suddenly impacted.
Karen's post here.

For all the actions and decisions that we make that lead up to events that we might have been involved with – but weren’t – the reality of being connected to people who are involved reminds me that our world remains so very big, but our connections, no matter how far the distances we cross, are very very close.

==
I had been thinking a bit ago about lightfastness of some of my watercolor pencils. Will some of these fade unacceptably quickly in the light? Should I really just work with pencils that I know won’t fade? It’s tempting to want to use something that is rated to be lightfast for 50 years, maybe 100? Another artist obsessing about materials.

And now I have to think, “What the heck? ‘Lightfastness’?!?” The only fastness we should be concerned about is the rate at which we get to our work and enjoy the process. We can (and should) create art, no matter what it is that we’re using. In creating our art, we commit more deeply to our processes, and through that, we create and more deeply commit to ourselves.

===
I’m not sure if anyone new is stopping by here, following some of the lines I’ve cast out in the past months. I’m not sure who is still hanging out, peering into the fridge, wondering if there’s anything new. I’m a bit tired (and stiff) of sitting, watching in silent reverie and am casting my lines out, to see where they might stick and connect.

Say Hello, won’t you?

What I've been up to

Cereal Box Book Click to see this photo's flickr page

8 things I’ve been up to (and where you might fit in)

A new friend of mine, Joanna Young, has a very nice blog, Confident Writing. She helps readers find their own voice, allowing them (or, us) to produce writing that is authentic, that comes from the heart. It’s hard sometimes to have confidence in putting our words out there, to push the “Publish” button. How do we trust that we have the confidence to express ourselves clearly and truthfully? Sound like anyone you know?

Joanna challenged herself, and us, to just list 8 things we’ve been up to, and to share. I have a new friend, Ulla, whose post I really enjoyed. I decided that if Ulla, whose first language is NOT English, can share her thoughts so bravely - - in English - - , I thought, well, I could certainly come up with a list of what I’ve been up to, to update everyone here.

I’ve been:

1. Looking for work. There’s a lot of that going on. My really great new job came to a sudden and jarring halt, as the company went through ‘economic readjustment’, even before I had a chance to gush about how good it all was to everyone. It’s kind of like having a fantastic new boyfriend you want to tell all your friends about. Just as you’re getting ready to do that, he disappears. Forever. It was kind of like that.

2. Teaching. I teach business practices: resumes, cover letters, interviewing, networking. The irony of teaching this AND having to go through it myself? It’s a little humorous, I guess. At least I can chuckle about it. And at least these are topics that I think about often. I’m also working on committees, thinking about faculty involvement in governance. What’s the future of design, the future of the school, and how do we get there?

3. Building community in the local design community. I’m a local chapter officer for the professional industrial design association. There are meetings, of course, to put together panels of guest speakers, and planning very casual social mixers with goofy/fun design challenges. Building community is difficult, especially in a city as large as Los Angeles, where the distances we would have to travel, all by itself, is a major hurdle to gathering everyone in one place. Like any other good relationship, we’re building it, one person at a time.

4. Social networking: LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook, Flickr. They each have their particular strengths. I’ve heard people say that Twitter is like a cocktail party; Facebook is like a high school reunion. With Twitter, there are lots of random conversations and you can wander around and hear lots of things, simultaneously. Snippets of exchanges of ideas, in real time. You can join in or lurk.
With Facebook, it truly has been a high school reunion, reconnecting with people I already know, sharing photos of all our kids, our vacations. Who would have thought that the simple act of wishing an old friend “Happy birthday!” would be so satisfying?

On Twitter, I’ve found myself enjoying the company of career coaches, writers, artists. There are lots of interesting, different, every day people that I’ve met. I also follow celebrities like Andy Bumatai, Cesar Millan, NASA, and a couple TV news stations here and in Hawaii.

Oh, and the Phoenix Mars Lander, too.

It’s compelling, almost addicting, sharing in the every day things and thoughts everyone has: Going for a great cup of coffee, procrastination, frustrating days, lust for Johnny Depp, looking forward to the weekends. All in 140 characters or less. You might not expect it, but you can form very supportive relationships, one little bit at a time. From Twitter relationships, I find myself wandering over to new websites, blogs and Flickr streams. There’s a tremendous amount of great thinking and writing out there, and fantastic art and photos to look at.

5. Being creative and doing art every day. Since I have more time in my days (sigh), I can draw and smoosh paint around. I’ve been playing with different media and different brands. My quest to put the ideal everyday mini drawing/painting kit has actually evolved through this experimentation. Now, if I could only find my ideal everyday handbag to put it in, I’d be set! I took a collage class in the fall and have been enjoying doing collages and putting together my strange version of ... well, just click to see the first cereal box book, so far, on my Flickr stream. And here are the collages.

6. Writing. I took a few writing classes and am playing with the romantic notion of doing travel writing. J and I could record and share our adventures. What do you think? It’s one of those long-range plans we find ourselves talking about, working on a little bit at a time, in no terribly conscious way at all. We just keep doing things that we love and it seems to be pointing to have us look at this particular path. So, to be proactive about it, I’ve been trying to be more focused with my writing, be more compelling. The fun and sometimes challenge part is to encourage conversation, to see what appeals to people.

I’m doing a book review for Joyful Jubilant Learning as part of their month long “A Love Affair With Books”. I’ll be honest here: With visual art, I’m reasonably comfortable putting out whatever it is that I do (as far as you can tell! What could I possibly be editing out and not sharing?). It’s a far different task to put together words that you know a whole different group of people will read. It makes one very self-conscious. After I clicked “Save” and “Send”, I was happy and very proud to have finished my contribution. The next morning I awoke with horrible thoughts, “OMG! My paragraphs – they’re just TOO long. Yuck! What have I done?!?!”

See the entire month-long collection of reviews here.

7. Reading, or more accurately, listening to audiobooks, via Audible.com. I’ve recently ‘read’:
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Quiet Strength by Tony Dungy, and Memoirs of a Geisha (and finally rented the movie, as well). I’m currently listening to Charles Kuralt’s America, read by the author. I like to listen when I’m stuck in traffic, soaking in new ideas and imagining different places and times. I’ve been listening to a few lectures on meditation by Pema Chodron, too, but, obviously, not while I’m driving.

8. Rethinking my blog. I’ve been struggling for a while with the questions of “why” and “what it looks like”. I’ve been thinking of figuring out a better format for organizing my blog and content. Although I struggle with it, I still like the idea of maintaining this venue to share and connect, keep up with friends, and to find likeminded people. I like Facebook, Twitter and Flickr, but those, separately, don’t add up to what I’m aiming for. I’m mulling over how to go forward with TheFridgeDoor and how to get back to regularly sharing content, providing food for thought and conversation.

Where might you fit in?
Share of yourself, generously. Here, and in other blogs. Keep the conversations going....
So tell us, what have YOU been up to?

Lines, but no words

20081205_sp_fac_lounge Click to see this photo's flickr page

It's not like I haven't had the words and ideas flitting around in my mind, or the want to reach out. I just haven't had much of the want to sit down and write. You know how that goes, right?

It's February already?

“You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation.” - Joseph Campbell.

I was typing a comment over at Jane's blog and was horrified that I actually had to *think* when it asked me for my ID name and password. I decided against thinking that maybe my short-term memory was going bad, since, heck, it’s February already and a whole huge chunk of time has indeed gone by.

I was going through my RSS feeds this morning, and one post was titled “Unplugging the Fridge!”, and I thought, “OMG. Someone is actually harassing me to just stop it all!” No, I don’t really imagine that all of the world revolves around me, not all the time, anyway. It gave me a pretty good start, though. Because I know you’re curious, it was a post arguing against giving up on the refrigerator (apparently some eco-conscious people are giving up the fridge, as a badge of commitment. Eco-consciousness. And where would they put up their kids’ artwork, then?).

I also happened upon this today:
"We are not cisterns made for hoarding, we are channels made for sharing." - Billy Graham

So, I have to apologize. I didn’t mean to harass anyone into feeling like they’re supposed to comment, make you feel guilty, although the conversation is really nice to have, isn’t it? And, I didn’t mean to piss anyone off, that’s for sure. There was, well, stuff and more stuff, and then, on top of that, huge busy-ness along with the everyday insanity of life. The summer and fall seem like a blur. I found myself pretty much wanting to enjoy a good lo-o-ong dose of anonymity, hibernation.

I’ve been enjoying everyone else’s blogs, though, as best I can, appreciate your comments and have been really grateful to have reconnected with some old pals. There are great celebrations, and continued struggles, and I feel a bit of remorse in not being an active part of the community. To be truthful, it was also gnawing away at me to think that that last post would have stayed as the post at the top, the one people read when they first found themselves at my blog, and, well, what an incredible downer: that just won’t do.

I do have a bunch of stuff to catch up with. Sadly, I find myself with very little free mind-meandering time anymore, and it’s been hard for me to sit and download photos or scan sketches and upload stuff on Flickr. But, I’m trying to wrestle back some time to sit and draw. In time, I hope to figure out how to add back in all that daydreamy wandering around, too, as well as running and yoga. If I could do these things in my car while I’m commuting, I would. Seriously. No, really, I would.

So, anyway, thanks for being there (or, rather, here) and coming back.

Oh, yes, I’ve been working, making things like this.

"If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water." – Loran Eisely

And yes, I am still with the big ol’ bear.


Holiday Party! Click to see this photo's flickr page

We’ve been busy practicing for that new Olympic sport, synchronized shrimp tempura eating, don’cha know.

I would share my biscotti

Writing inspiration Click to see this photo's flickr page

I have started this post in my mind a number of times during the past few months. When I get tempted to be vengeful and strike back at what’s been sitting on me, weighing me down, I just stop. I’ve read anger, venom spewed out publicly, and, you know, it’s just hurtful. Yup.

The best I can describe the past few months is that, well, some times, you just don’t feel like sharing. Not that there’s anything particularly personally sensitive going on, but you just feel like hunkering down, way out in the middle of no where, and not have to talk about anything to anyone. Ever have a day like that? Yeah? I’ve had a good 4 or 5 months worth of it.

To be honest, I’ve considered a number of times just quitting the blog, as well. Not just stopping it, but taking the whole thing off-line. I’ve had to think on why people blog, why I blog, what I want, where this is going.

In the beginning, I recall wanting to share the silly everyday-ness with friends who had moved away. Along the way, I discovered a few of things: the friends visited my blog with decreasing regularity. And when I’d get very pensive, they’d shy away; they prefer the silly goofiness, or were maybe just more comfortable responding to it. The other thing I discovered, though, is that I’ve met people along the way, quite by accident sometimes, that would read my words and ponder along, at least for part of the way, with me. I know also that I have a deep need to be heard. I say that again: I need to be heard. The problem with being a really good, empathetic listener is that people feel even more comfortable to talk at/with you. And talk. Oh heck, they’ll talk right over you. Talk, talk, talk. And they often forget to stop to listen. So, I found and still find myself writing, and thinking, and writing more. I don’t know that I’m writing for any particular cause, other than to now keep in touch with the other strong, yet sensitive souls that I’ve connected with. I need to be heard. The naysayers, the critics, those who have lost interest, those a little too sheepish, unwilling or just plain unable to engage in deeper conversation, they persist. But, the greater truth is I have found, one by one, good, patient people who will stop and listen, share and connect. They hear, and they hear me. And, boy, isn’t that what counts?

I have kept up reading my bloggy buddies’ blogs (say that 5 times fast!), but I have missed keeping them up with me. I’ve been micro-blogging, 140 characters at a time, on Twitter. I’ve found some exceptional nice people there. I’ve been drawing and collaging, taking photos, and posting on Flickr, as well, and I’ve found some exceptionally creative, talented people there, too. I feel a bit remiss, knowing that when they click over to this blog, there’s really been nothing new here; just a long, uncertain pause.

In many ways, I hope that The FridgeDoor is successful in celebrating the everyday acts that we do, the simple acts of grace, the small steady stream of words of encouragement that we share, the thoughts we have that are remarkably great and significant, unexpectedly mixed in with all the seemingly trivial details our routines. At its best, though, I think it’s also a letter – a love letter – to those that do stop in, to read and look at the images up close, and then sit for with me, and with you, a bit and share the inspiration, or even just actively share the silence. [shrug]

So I have to keep at the blog, if not for them, for me, because I need to keep thinking and pondering and writing, scheming and sighing all at the same time. I keep at the blog because I deeply cherish the companionship of these friends, close and very far away. I can’t be there, but we can share a virtual cuppa' coffee, right? I saw a couple of you nod, “Yup”. And if I had biscotti, I’d share one with you.

Much thanks. xox, -w

Taking more time

More ginger blossoms Click to see this photo's flickr page

Being an introvert simply means that one requires plenty of alone time to recharge after being in the presence of other people. - Emily Maguire

If you are really missing the drawings and photos, you should go to view my Flickr photostream.

Some things just take time

20080817_ginger Click to see this photo's flickr page

I've been reading about what it takes to be a good (ie, good pro) blogger - you keep providing great content, keep the conversation flowing.
You never, ever leave your readers hanging.

I've also been reading about summers that have been spent thinking about life and direction. Sometimes there are photos, but no words. There's mostly lots of quiet filled with (what you can only know is) heavy pondering.

I'm okay with that, as long as I can get the sense that the person at the other end of the internet connection is hanging in there. I guess you can't really know for sure how these people are sometimes, people you don't actually know, but have managed to grow an affection for. You try to have faith that whatever the hopes and thoughts that you're sending out to them are somehow received into the universe, into their universe.

Maybe there are people still out there, sending out extra goodness my way. Peering over at the FridgeDoor: "Anything new? Nope. Wiped clean, but nothin' new." You knew I'd come back, right?

So, for me, there are lots travels and pondering to catch up with, stories to be told and stories not to be told. It was like an all-you-can eat orgy: all these trips, one after another, tastes of so many things, and so much of it, seemingly all at once. Some of it was very yummy and exquisite; some unexpectedly bitter, tart, or worse, spoilt. I've tried to resist the temptation to reflexively spew out what was distasteful and hurtful, get it out of me as quickly as possible and then be done with it. But with spewing, in many ways, you might feel better, but it can get awfully messy.

So, I've been sitting, digesting. ["And now you're ready to poop?"]

OMG. Where the heck did that come from? Swell.

As we head back into Fall and the new school semesters, I'm finding myself committing to things, exploring new paths that I've known I've wanted to travel on, but been unsure about for some time.

Do you hear that creak? The fridge door might need a little bit of oil, but I think it's back open.

And look at that, the light still goes on, yup, every time.

Oh yes. And as if to celebrate, some of you may remember the ginger plant? It finally bloomed, exactly when it needed to.

Remarkably, as it turns out, exactly when I needed it to, too.

Some things, they just take some time.