So Close

The lattes at Toby's have changed a bit since this photo was taken, that year when the lattes were rich and caramely one day, and bubbly and bitter the next. Kae, Pam, Greg and I have driven in both mornings, both mornings the large lattes in their nubbly brown sleeves have been the right temperature, velvety foam, and the  flavor - deep coffee coffee coffee. The treats have changed too, the first day we ordered three Love Bites and a Thumbprint. The love bites were little mounds of buttery nuts held together by something just the right amount of sweet. Today it was some kind of apple pastry, SO. MUCH. BUTTER! I love egg breakfasts, but right now, coffee and sleep take precedence so I haven't made it to the cafeteria for eggs once. Maybe tomorrow, after our slumber party in Pam's room, and a late night of Bananagrams?

Both workshop days have involved multiple writing exercise as well as some gentle homework at night, so there is writing being done here. On the airplane, one of the books that Mark Doty had assigned us to read for workshop, Maggie Nelson's Bluets, turned out to be a catalyst for a little piece of writing that flew onto the page so quickly that I literally don't even remember what it's about. I've been too busy with other words, other paragraphs to even go back and see. Later. As I was writing that, I thought I'd just share whatever I was working on in class on the blog. That was before I found out what I was working on. Now all I can say is, I'm not ready. I'm thinking about it, but not quite ready. 

Remedies

I was going to try to get to the darkroom tonight, but I never made it. It took me until 8 to finish up all the work I needed to do before leaving for a 3 (work) day vacation, and even then I ended up sending texts to my email address to remind myself to replenish employee bus passes and ask my volunteer Halloween party helpers to dig through the bags and bags of candy and bouncing eyeballs and candy and spider rings and plastic pumpkins and candy and monster napkins and candy and coloring things and candy to try and find the receipt I'll need to get reimbursed for all that candy. If they don't find it, I want my candy back. 

Some people around these rainy, windy parts are a bit jealous that I'm headed to California, sunshine, universal remedy. Of course, on the coast where I'll be, we're as likely to be fogged in as anything. The other day when I looked at the Tomales Bay webcam, it was like looking at a grey card. See what I did there? Cool photography reference. I'm traveling with the Big Camera for the first time tomorrow, and I feel dorky, excited and apprehensive. When I use it, I feel like people Expect something, and I avoid having anyone Expect anything of my creative endeavors. The nice thing is, it's so funny-looking that people are all distracted by the What-IS-it?! factor. I'm bringing three lenses and a reflector thingy and a couple boxes of film, and I am sacrificing shoes to do so. 

Home game

The Bow Little Market was just what I was hoping for. Small, with funny things you don't see everywhere. Little mini-lop rabbits, handmade soakers in bright colors with little organic cotton velour nappies to go underneath, four kinds of blueberry trees, white raspberry bushes, handknit dish cloths, penants with the names of all the neighboring towns out here, a stand making fresh tortillas, a band with an accordion and acoustic guitars and a woman with a feather in her hat spinning the most beautifully colored yarn. She was wearing a long handknit skirt, caramelly patchwork, and a dark tweed one hanging on a hanger on a peg, little lacey edging at the bottom. There were no prices or labels on any of her yarns, except one dusky lace-weight skein, 945 yards of handspun wool, cashmere, mohair, angora. That skein just had a little torn handwritten note, with the yardage and ingredients. When I asked her if she sold her yarn, she said she never had before. I wanted everything, the grassy greens, the orange skeins with a little blue twisted in to brighten it up, sunset colors, dark fall browns that changed color unpredictably. So pretty. The woman who had spun the yarn open her eyes real wide when I told her the price that I thought would be a good deal and talked me down by ten dollars and I left with 945 fine delicate yards of handspun yarn and her contact information, even though I have no right to bring another ounce of wool into this house. 

Kate's visiting, and the Bow Little Market was our field trip with Jessica. All the colors are changing, and Bow Hill Road is a pretty drive from the Lucky Dumpster and back. I could have stopped twenty times for photos but water from the blueberry trees in the back seat was seaping into the floor mats and we needed a coffee from Tweets and there was the store for Jess to tend to and, in theory, Kate and I needed to get to the co-op for dinner supplies, which we have still not procured. Kate got cookies from the Breadfarm and ate them sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a blanket on her lap and Tom and I watched a hawk devour a rodent in the big tree where the ropes from an old tree swing still hang. Dad's cataract surgery went well, so now he can get around without putting glasses on first thing, and my headache eventually went away. Kate fell asleep for a while but now she's waking up and it's time to hit the road for Mt Vernon to get crab and artichoke dip and something to put in the oven that will be warm and filling later. 

Waiting

So happy I get to go home and see this girl tonight.

And the man who belongs with her.

I didn't tell you much about it before now

At the annual Hugo House auction, a group of us chipped in to buy a yacht tour of the Duwamish River,  with Frances McCue, (one of the Hugo House co-founders and author of a recent book, The Car That Brought You Here Still Runs, about the Northwest towns that are the settings for many of Richard Hugo's poems) as our tour guide. I love Richard Hugo's book about writing, The Triggering Town, and the book Frances' has written is gorgeous, with photos by Mary Randlett, a really wonderful photographer who is one of my new heroes. 

I wish I could tell you all the interesting things Frances told us about the Duwamish, but I don't remember it with enough accuracy to do it justice. It's a Superfund site and so plenty of the history is tragic, as you can imagine, but also fascinating since it's so integral to the history of the city and floating down the river made Frances' stories just that much more evocative and vivid. The best part was when she read part of a Hugo poem. She asked us if she could, as though any of us would have done anything other than beg her to go on. It was a rare sunny day in late September, what could be better than to be read to?

Gena and Jennifer were the perfect company on this trip, both whip-smart women who are always up for an adventure. They also both have that particular kind of wonderfully curious minds that make certain people so much fun to talk to. At dinner afterwards, I kept wishing I could be part of all the conversations happening simultaneously, since Frances, Rose, Jim and Dan are exactly the same way.

Rose is on the Hugo House board with me, and was generous enough to donate the trip on her boat, the Celestine. She and her husband spend a few months a year living on the Celestine, most recently up in the San Juans and Gulf Islands. Speaking of women always up for an adventure... in her former life she was a litigator and she also fits in the category of whip-smart. 

Totally underexposed, taken as we left the boat at sunset, but I love this one of Gena. I feel like I've known her and Jennifer for several lifetimes and I love that too.

Impossibilities of light

I love this one of Tom. His look, that little feather. This version of it is from a scan of a medium-format negative, but in the darkroom the other night, I was trying to print on paper from the negative. I guess you can sort-of see the problems with the photo even here, though my print photos didn't turn out as good as this. It was so bright out, and I had his face in shadow and after 4 or 5 versions we decided that this print was best for illustrating why I might want to use fill flash outside on bright days. The right exposure for his face is the wrong exposure for the background and never the twain shall meet. That's what it all boils down to. 

My day job felt a little like that this week. The impossibility of it all had been baked in from the start, or something. I've noticed that I think about all that differently these days, now that I have the mini-farm and mortgage to look after. This is both good and bad, a sense of greater purpose as well as a little fear at the heaviness of it all. Heading into the weekend, the overall feeling is that my own life needs me, and that hour drive home is a good time to shed whatever work energy might be clinging to me when I walk out the door in the evenings. Once I turn on to Cook Road, it's time to be ready to pet the dog, and survey all the little changes that take place over a week on an acre of land, to look out for the bald eagles that have come back to our trees and to pay enough attention to notice and fall even more in love with everything that's there. 

I didn't know how to choose

Photo class this quarter is portraits. I already have so many of Jessica that I could print up, but I'm sure I'll still be after more as the quarter proceeds. This weekend we sat in my car talking, in the parking lot at the school, looking out at the rain, the wet fields where she and James walk Champ, the old barn that's falling down on that side of Edison. As always, she just looked so pretty. She's one of those people who, for me, seems to have a face that is perpetually full of good intent.

These Ones From Amber

I buy capes but don't always wear them. Still I want to buy more. I covet and cherish vegetables from my friends' gardens. I have a nervous habit that I won't tell you about. I'm trying to take more vitamins, drink more water and avoid MSG. I hate that they show ads for horror movies during Sunday morning football games. I like to bring my lunch to work, and I love rice in soups.

Look Carefully

All I can say about this week is, it is over. It was seriously slugs on slugs around here. Click to make that photo larger, if you dare.

Mini Birthday

You had a mini tour, I had a mini birthday! It was the tenth anniversary of 27 or the seventh anniversary of 30. Whatever it was, it was sweet.

And thanks Mom, for having me.

So, Okay.

Mini-tour did not proceed as pictured. It started with rain and Krusty Pups and the jumbotron and metal folding chairs and cheap clear plastic ponchos at the Puyallup fair. We never did get to see the draft horses and Jess didn't get her soft serve, which in my opinion means I owe her one and I do look forward to making good on that one. But the three of us had a good drive out to Puyallup, just happy to be with some of my best ladies and then Dakota was added once we got there. The rain let up a bit and Willie's new haircut was cute and even though it was odd trying to choose between looking at him way up there on the stage with my naked eyes or up close in jumbotron detail on the big screen, I was just happy to see him. Jessica and I stayed up late talking to Kate and then even later once Jessica and I got all settled in upstairs, me in the new bed Kate set up for me and Jess on the air mattress that, inflated, fills up the whole rest of that top floor.  The next morning Jessica and I had quiche at Honore and then I ran around town collecting what is starting to feel like all the little bits and pieces of myself before driving off to Portland in the rain. 

This morning at the mini-farm I woke up talking about the anxiety dream I had last night. I was in Santa Fe for the weekend, time run out on my dorm room and overdue back in Seattle, with nothing packed to go at all. "Sounds like your life right now," Tom said, and he was right. That trip to Portland was so good and so disconnected at the same time. I spent 30 hours at the Edgefield, the last part of Friday in Ruby's soaking pool late into the evening, in the warm dark rain, then reading magazines in my room while my toenails dried. The next day I talked on the phone in a little shelter in the garden while the rain kept coming down around me, soaking the lawn where we would sit to see Willie later. I sat in the cozy bar at the Black Rabbit for breakfast and thought about Nell Thorn and then went back later for chowder and a salad for dinner. The big covered porch with its adirondack chairs was perfect for reading too, even though the novel I brought to read completely turned me off after the first ten pages. It turned out to be a good thing that I had indulged in both Vogue and Vanity Fair before I left Seattle. 

Even all that relaxing felt unsettling, though. The best part was seeing Amber and Charla and Candice, and having Michael standing in front of me at Willie, turning around for no reason other than to smile to me. I fell in love with Amber's kids and Candice's girls all over again, and filled rolls of film that haven't even been dropped off for developing yet. 

And that's a whole other story. How I came home Sunday feeling strange, not knowing if it was too much car time, or what. A cold, was what it turned out to be. Two days at home feeling like someone had punched me in the sinuses. Luckily there was Tom with glasses of fresh-squeezed juice from the organic valencia oranges that we buy from the co-op by the big paper sackful, and a real breakfast every morning, perfectly fried eggs and potatoes with cheese and kale. I don't need to tell you that it was a little hard to go back to work on that third day, but reminding myself that work is what makes all this possible helps. The life I'm living out of bags and boxes right now  may feel unfinished and hectic, disorganized and junked up and always running late, but I want it, for sure.

Mini-tour!

I'm off on my mini-tour with Willie Nelson! I couldn't be more excited. Last night Farmer Tom and I watched The Real Dirt on Farmer John, which I loved and was totally choked up over. I adored his mom and all those wonderful color films of his childhood on the farm. What an awesome lady she was.   Of course the movie highlighted the challenges to family farms, and only made me appreciate Willie's Farm Aid work more. I'm so happy to live in the Skagit Valley and shop from local farms at our wonderful co-op in Mount Vernon, and all the honor stands within close driving distance of our place. Next year we'll have crops of our own, I'm sure! 

First stop is the Puyallup fair with the ladies, Lisa, Jess and Dakota. I'm hoping we get there in time for some fair fun, but even if we just see Willie, I'll be a happy girl. I made all the ladies little party favors, CDs with podcasts from Fresh Air's country week, interviews with Willie, Dolly and others. 

Friday I drive away from Ballard for my annual pilgrimage to the Edgefield. This time I get to stay there a night, not the night of the concert, but I'm still excited about it. Willie plays in Bend Friday night so he won't be there, but we'll see him Saturday night, when Amber and Seth and Charla and Michael and his whole birthday gang join me on a lawn that is hopefully not too terribly damp. Either way, I'll be there with my knitting, waiting for round two. 

Hope your weekend is just as fun! 

Meanwhile

The farmhouse looked so good when I came back to it last Friday. Some of it was just how happy I was to be there, to have a weekend, to be off the road for at least a bit. But most of it was everything that Tom had done since I was there last. The living room looked warm and cozy and the table where we eat made me want to sit down with a bowl of something hot, and everything had been cleaned, even our never-ending seemingly self-refilling dish sink. Everything. 

I haven't been so good, myself, at the nesting. Terrible, in fact. I've done some laundry. I put two little bird figurines in a place I liked on the window sill in the living room. Other than that, I just try to do some dishes when I can, and move things out of Tom's way, but I still leave my knitting around and my mail is also everywhere and my bedroom is an absolute mess. It's been hard to find pants. That kind of mess. 

When I came home to Kate and Jason's house the other day, they were nesting too. I could see through the big picture window that Kate was putting something on a shelf, standing back to look at it, gesturing to Jason. They both looked out and saw my car and looked surprised but smiled, waved. That was nice. It's been good to go there. Good to see all the little changes they've made since last time I was there. Was that painting of the frigate there in the bathroom before? Where was that bookshelf before? Have I ever seen that poster for Two-Lane Blacktop? You can tell they're happy doing all of it, and that makes home nice. 

Farm Birds

Neither one of us was sure how the bird got in the house, but there it was, perched on top of the refrigerator. It was what dad would call an LBB, or Little Brown Bird. Officially, you know. Tom and I had been out on the front porch, just looking at the night, the wisteria growing up over the roof, lovely and needing a trim. We didn't know there were birds sleeping in the wisteria, and couldn't see them, that's how thick it is there. As we looked at all the little parts of the house, we kept flushing them out of their night-time hiding places, rustle of leaves, rustle of wings. It wasn't until after I had gone inside to finish an email. and closed the door, that Tom discovered the indoor bird. Maybe it came in when I was taking photos of Tom and Emmy like the one above, too dark, blurry, but to my liking anyway. Maybe Tom let it in when he came in, though I doubt it. All we had to do to get it out was walk towards it - it let out one sharp sweet little chirp, tart like small candy, and flew directly through the entire length of the house and out the front door.

I'm starting to see photos again. My film cameras are still mostly in their bags, but I've started to make a move for the digital camera more frequently. It's just expedient, and good in low light, in a way. I went running for the first time in ages today, and kept looking at the red barn with the fish sculptures on the side of it, the buildings half-hidden by the height of corn stalks, the way the yellow flowers looked by that metal gate that led to the corn fields near the dike. The farmhouse and life there is presenting itself to me in different ways too, now, the way Pam's ranch did when I stayed there and took photo after photo, every day, little variations on all the corners of the land I liked to look at. 

So many things made it a good weekend, but one of the nicest things was just looking, and seeing. 

Or Not

I didn't take a single photo this weekend. It was kind of a nice change. I did finish knitting a shawl, the first thing I've knit in months and months, and it only took me a week. My hands were sore at the end of it, but it was worth it. Mostly I just petted Emmy, walked around the property, made food, ate food, did dishes, drove to Anacortes (three times!), bought groceries (also three times), watched movies from the 80s about country singers (three of them), and slept.

This week I'm staying at my Ballard room. In some ways, the simplicity is nice, and I can't tell you how much I LOVE having a functional closet, getting dressed in the morning is so easy, but I do miss the mini-farm. Time with Susan, Lisa and Stumptown consoles me. 

Lament

For our former blog format. Oh old blog! How I miss you!

Jess is not grossed out by slugs

Oops.

photo by Lisa Robbins

Um. I think I kinda screwed up the blog. Sorry! 

We'll get it worked out soon, I promise...

Having Time

from Seamus' birthday party last Sunday

The drive home was lovely last night. It shouldn't have been. All day I debated whether to go home or back to Ballard, and at the very last minute I decided to head north, only to find all lanes of I-5 closed, in both directions. I didn't mean to head all the way out to Mukilteo, but that was where I ended up, in my search for a detour, and if there hadn't been a line for the ferry I would have been sorely tempted to hop on the Whidbey Island ferry and go home that way. It was getting late, and the light was low and warm-looking, and Whidbey and the San Juans have been so tempting lately. Instead, I drove along the water for a ways before heading back east, just north of where the freeway was closed.  I lucked out and hit it right at the first open onramp. 

There was a Willie Nelson interview on Fresh Air, and then the baseball game was on and the light was not fall light, it was late summer, and when I got to the Skagit Valley Food Co-op, there were no lines and the peaches weren't soft, they were just hard enough to ripen in time for the long weekend, and the first crop of Washington apples was there and I thought I'd just do a little shopping, but I kept thinking about chips and salsa to watch the Seahawks game with tonight, peanut butter ice cream for Tom, meals for the long weekend, my favorite tortillas, a box of black licorice, and stuffed manicotti for dinner and pretty soon three bags were full and I was driving home through twilight, still content, not feeling late at all. 

We have the nicest sunsets at the mini-farm

We also have nice pancakes, a nice dog who puts her head in my lap when we drive to Seattle for nephew birthday parties, good knitting, and clean gutters.