grammiejay

2008-05-18T17:21:00.000-07:00

The hiking trips of my youth are what I remember most about growing up. Mother was studying geology and I remember many many trips into the woods with camping, tents, smoky fire pits and best of all, the very great outdoors.

I attribute my love of nature and the out-of-doors to these expeditions and thank my folks internally every time I look upon with supreme satisfaction at the beauty of this place. I like it, the colors are just right and the simplicity of nature’s creatures continually astounds me into mild jealousy. Wouldn’t it be nice to gather nuts, year after year, and frolic amongst the tree tops of the Sierra Nevada? Wouldn’t it be nice to prance and eat grass around wildflower strewn meadows high in the Stanislaus? And wouldn’t it be nice to have, as your single largest priority, a little nest to build in a granite crack along the shores of Crater Lake?

I say yes. Oh, it might be boring. That uncooked acorn might get to be a little tart on the palette. But your brain would be smaller so it wouldn’t really matter all that much..

One particular trip – I’m not sure where – we scampered along a shadowed and bright trail in the forest just after a recent rain. The wide trail had pockets of puddles that reflected mirrors back at the sky and I remember jumping and splashing, joyous to have nothing to do but breathe deep and contemplate the wonder.

I would hunker at the edge of some pools - letting mom, dad and sister wander a little ways ahead – and root around in them, looking for something interesting. All sorts of fun things are in pools of water if you look.

And I loved to look. The memory is burned into my brain like an indelible footprint and I remember a huge dragonfly, brilliant blue-green and chrome iridescence, desperately trying to free itself from the muddy water in one of these pools. Its wings had gotten wet and almost its entire body was submerged, making it dangerously close to drowning.

I put my little finger under this creature’s nose and watched in fascination as it crawled, seemingly grateful, onto the tip. Standing up and with eyes glued to my finger I began walking, hypnotized by the massive eyes on this winged insect.

It splayed its gorgeous wings and let the mellow forest wind dry them. After what seemed like hours my arm started to hurt so I put it on my hat, just on the tip of the bill. The dragonfly stayed there for a very long time, well past the time necessary for complete wing-drying.

I think it liked me. I certainly liked it. And from that day on I can say with complete confidence that my attitude towards insects changed forever. I don’t kill them. I save them if I can.

Little microcosms of life exist within them. We all should respect that (unless they suck your blood, in which case they are fair game for squashing).

Editor’s note: Spiders don’t suck your blood.

2008-05-15T16:34:00.000-07:00

Up Up and Away
Like most students, I was very poor. I drove a 1955 Ford sedan, that Ken kept running using his superior automotive knowledge and regular runs to the "junk yard" for parts. One day, after checking the oil and water, I forgot to latch the hood down completely, and when driving down the road, the hood flew up and smacked into the windshield. Scared me to bits, but we manage to wrestle the hood back down and get home. Not being able to afford a replacement hood, from then on I drove the car with a seriously bent hood, tied down with rope. This allowed water to get into the hood hinge area and without our knowledge, rusted the hinges to the point of failure.

I have tried to learn from mistakes, but sometimes it takes making the same mistake more than once to get the idea. So, one day I again forgot to tie the hood down with the rope. I was driving south on Junipero Serra Blvd, just south of Hicky Blvd, when the hood came loose. I was doing about 50 or 6 MPH as I had not yet managed to lighten up my lead foot. Since there were no hinges for it to pivot on, the entire hood became airborne, and traveled along at the same speed as the car. As I watched in horror and fascination, the entire hood lifted up about a foot above the car, and just hovered there for a few seconds. Very slowly then, the hood began to bank, lift, and ultimately just sailed away over a backyard fence.

Since I had no insurance of any kind, and was terrified of consequences, I just continued on my way in shock. Ken's face when I got home was amazing. We poured over the local newspaper for days afterwards hoping that we would not find a story about a home owner decapitated by a flying car hood, a crushed pet, or worse. Nothing ever came to light in the papers or radio/TV news, but I can imagine the poor homeowner who found a bent car hood, with a rope still attached to the front, laying in their back yard. I'll bet that story is part of their family legacy.

2008-05-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

Voice of command

When Alex was very young, maybe eighteen months old, he was visiting Grammie for the day. We went out for a walk in the neighborhood. We met a neighbor outside in her yard and stopped to talk. The neighbor had a young labrador retriever who was still learning obedience commands and was very frisky. Alex was waiting patiently for us to finish our conversation, but the dog was jumping around a lot. The neighbor finally turned in exasperation and said to the dog with a loud voice "sit". We were both extremely amused to see two young butts hit the sidewalk simultaneously. Alex clearly knew the voice of command when he heard it, and was soon sitting on the sidewalk next to the dog, both of them looking a little worried.

2008-04-16T11:11:00.000-07:00

Naughty girl
I was not what you would call a "good little girl". I was frequently up to some devilment, and usually involved my brother in the plans whenever possible. On one occasion, the family had been out and apparently I had been sufficiently naughty to warrant a spanking "when I got home". I must have been about 4 years old at the time. We had a four door car, and always parked it in the garage. When we got into the garage, I lingered in the car until everyone else had gotten out and shut the doors. I then quickly clicked all four door locks, and since my Dad always left the keys in the ignition, was now unreachable and safe. My Mom fled up the stairs laughing as my Dad tried to get me to unlock the doors. She said she lingered by the upper door giggling as she heard him try "now Joanie, open the doors", "now Joanie, it's just going to be worse", to no avail. I don't know why he didn't just go upstairs and leave me in the car, I'm sure I would have come out sooner or later. But he didn't want to leave me there alone, so spent a long time patiently coaxing me into finally unlocking the car door.

2008-04-16T11:05:00.000-07:00

Jim is a Daddy
Jim has always been a full time, caring Daddy for Kiva, but it always takes a while to learn many of the tricks of parenthood. When Kiva was a tiny infant, he was wondering if she needed a diaper change. He nonchalantly poked a finger into her diaper from the top, above her little butt to see if she was wet. Unfortunately she was "more than wet" and I would give a lot for a photo of Jim's face when his finger encountered more than he had expected.

2008-04-16T10:57:00.000-07:00

The best Lisa story
When Lisa was little, she was very much like Kiva. After the three boisterous boys, it was amazing to have a quiet, easily directed child. However, Lisa was not without spirit, and when she was around five years old I did something (I wish I could remember what) that really really made her mad. Lisa was a tiny little thing, but she stood in front of me just trembling with rage, tears glistening in her eyes, glaring at me. She then announced "when I grow up, I'm going to get some big, big boots, and then I'm going to kick your ass". I was first speechless, then howling with laughter, which didn't help assuage her anger at all. It is no mystery where she got the language with three older brothers and attending kindergarten, but it was extremely unusual for Lisa to react this way. I can assure you I watched my step around her after that :-)

2008-04-11T19:13:00.000-07:00

See's candy
See's chocolate candy has a long history in our family, and I can remember as a small child my mother having some occasionally. At some point, when Joy was about 4 or so, Mom had a one pound box of chocolates in the refrigerator (where I prefer to keep chocolates to this day). Joy asked if she could have some, and Mom said "yes, you can have one". Later, when Mom looked into the box, it was clear that far more than "one" had been removed. Reminding Joy that she had been told she could have only one, Joy looked at her solemnly and replied carefully "well, I only took one at a time". This became one of our favorite Joy family legends.

2008-04-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

Jim's admirers
My first beautiful baby grew up to be a mighty handsome man, and when he was in Junior High School, the girls began to notice. Actually they did more than notice, they began to call, and call, and call, and call..... This was before cell phones, and before phones in every room. It's hard to believe, but we had one phone, in the living room. The phone calls rapidly became more numerous, until every time we wanted to make call, we had to nag Jim to get off the phone, and retrieve the phone from where the cord snaked under his bedroom door. We received no phone calls, since the line was always busy. In a stroke of genius (we thought) we got Jim his own phone to free up the family line. This worked for perhaps two days of blessed quiet on our line, until we began getting calls on "our" phone....."would you take a message for Jim" the plaintive young voice would say...."his line is busy". Finally we got completely hard hearted, and refused to even take messages on our phone, telling the sad, sweet girls "you will have to call him on his line" "But his line is always busy" "I know, but just keep trying" "Can't you tell him Jennifer (or Julie, or April, or Amber or...) is trying to reach him and give him my phone number". "No, I'm sorry, you will have to call him on his phone" "click"

2008-04-09T14:12:00.000-07:00

Men are from Mars
Yeah I know, I have spent a lifetime pursuing the philosophy that women should have all the opportunities that men have, and that some women can do almost anything some men can. But, really, when women have contests, they do something sane, like compare whose hair is curlier, who got the better grades, who has the cutest kids ( I WIN!!!), or who is wearing the smaller jeans. Men on the other hand, have fart contests. Or, in the case of our immediate family one Easter, when it must have been a very slow weekend, Ken, and the kids began to experiment with who could fit a whole (peeled) hard boiled egg in their mouth. It wasn't long before it escalated (you know these weapons races go), and ultimately Ken was declared the overall winner. Now you have not seen anything, until you have seen your beloved husband with three (yes three!) peeled hard boiled eggs in his mouth at one time. Closed his lips and everything. One egg in each cheek and one between his teeth. I count myself extremely lucky that no one strangled to death on an egg that day.

2008-04-05T16:19:00.000-07:00

A work memory
When I was working as an Engineering Geologist in the Bay Area, I had many occasions to do field work, which I thoroughly enjoyed. On one field trip, I was mapping in the east bay, along a new proposed highway realignment, so it was open land. The terrain was hilly, with the typical oak trees and grasses, and rock outcrops. I was hiking up a hill, which was covered with long golden grass, scattered oaks, and some rounded rock boulders the same color as the grass at the top of the hill. As I got closer and closer to the the rock boulders, I suddenly realized to my horror, that they were breathing! Yup, they were humongous bulls (taller than me before they got to their feet!), the same color as the grass, complete with wicked looking horns. The bulls were contentedly lying in the grass, and looking away from the steep side of the hill where I (wearing a brilliant orange vest) was approaching. I halted, holding my breath, and very very quietly and slowly, backed down the hill, my eyes riveted on the animals. When I got to the foot of the hill, I beat a very hasty retreat to and over the fence. Whew!

2008-04-04T21:11:00.000-07:00

Howling at the moon
When we were living in Washington, we raised chickens for eggs. Since we were pretty far out in the woods, there were plenty of predators, so we were careful to keep the chickens locked up at night in the chicken house. Many evenings we had an outdoor fire going in the fire pit, and it was wonderful to sit outside, warm from the fire, and enjoying the spectacular star show. One evening, as we were relaxing by the fire, we heard coyotes starting to howl and yip off in the distance. Gradually they got closer, until they sounded like they were quite close to our chicken house. Ken decided rather than shooting at the noise, he would try to drive them off using animal psychology. So, he gradually started yipping like the coyotes, repeatedly working himself up to a full fledged howling crescendo. It worked like a charm, we heard no further noise from the coyotes, and the chickens remained safe in their house. Jim and Jonathon were very impressed with this display (as was I!), and from then on worked on perfecting their own howling at the moon.

2008-04-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

CQ SPELLING CHECKED

By: SVV – Correspondent

-Cheney's replacement might go through your garbage

The Soap Gallery, a newly minted art space in San Francisco, plays host April 5 to three things that exemplify this city: bootstraps, activism and art.

River Soap Company – the scene behind the art gallery – has evolved after 17 years of business into a full-fledged retail/wholesale outlet of natural and organic toiletry products. But the soap itself, permeating the air in an amalgam of peppermint and spice at the Soap Gallery, started it all.

Lisa Mendelson, eclectic artist and co-owner of the company says, “We were broke and I bought my sister Eve a birthday gift, which included a bar of soap. That prompted us to say, ‘we need a new product like this.’ At the time, no one had money for anything and we thought, ‘Oh!, this is kind of a neat luxury item for under five bucks.’”

The sisters rendered some animal fat in the kitchen – it smelled “kinda porky,” Mendelson says – and bought some lye to start experimenting with recipes. But working with animal products and dangerous chemicals prompted Mendelson and her sister to break out the Thomas Register, an industry directory. It is found at the library or on the Internet and is something they consider essential for anyone that wants to find suppliers and start a business.

The concept of having an art gallery at the business headquarters was born three years ago in the SOMA District of San Francisco, River Soap Company’s previous location. The sisters, both lovers of art, decided to provide a cheap venue for local artists to display their craft. Unusual in the art gallery world, they only take 10 percent of the proceeds. (most galleries are in the 20-35 percent range)

“We don’t provide a lot other than clean walls, some lighting and 60 beers [for the artist reception],” Mendelson explains, “I mean, 10 percent!”

The Soap Gallery is debuting this Saturday at its new location with an exhibit by progressive activist Mark Gonzalez. The former San Francisco District 5 Supervisor is Ralph Nader’s running mate in the 2008 Presidential Election. They are running as independents and are currently on a blitz to challenge the conventional reality of a two-party political system – and to get on the ballot in time for Nov. 4, 2008.

A member of the Green party, Gonzalez, 42, ran for mayor and narrowly lost in 2003 to then-Supervisor Gavin Newsom by less than 15,000 votes.

As an artist he creates collages from “found art,” which can be anything. The waste and detritus of our consumer society is a rich playing field for artists such as him.

But progressive causes do not play a part in the creation of art for this vice-presidential challenger.

“For me it’s not, I mean, my program is to try to make something beautiful,” he muses.

Gonzalez’s works on display at 3180 Mission St. in the bustling and hip Mission District are a study in small abstract collages, with some no larger than a 3x5 card. Pointing to a blazing-red ensemble entitled, “Gushing Sun,” he touches a small scrap of wax paper. This piece, he says, came from working with Bay Area figurative painter William Theophilus Brown.

Another piece of scrap, which he likens to paintings by Dutch artist Piet Mondrian, came from a Burger King sandwich container.

Gonzalez has a little box that he throws things in - rather like a painter’s palette he says - from which he works to create his art. Taking artistic practice seriously – he has played bass guitar in a punk band after all – he’s done roughly one collage per day since 2006.

“You have to do a lot of them to get ones that work,” he says.

“Right now with the political thing I’m only collaging like once every two or three days,” he says. “But I’ll sit down with it as a kind of daily exercise, a little meditation.”

“It’s really no different than a sketch pad,” he says. “It’s not some big, okay everybody, stop, I’m about to make a collage.”

With strict ballot qualifications and big hurdles in each of the 50 states to register the Nader/Gonzalez team for the election, this is not surprising. However, the answer to his artistic question does come as a small and immediate expression on a little square of white paper.

“Ultimately I’m looking for an aesthetic thing that works… and that has a beauty in it,” he says.

The Soap Gallery is open during normal business hours on weekdays and by appointment. Contact them at (415) 920-9199 or at http://206.130.104.2/soap-gallery/.

2008-04-04T07:38:00.001-07:00

Childhood play continued:
Mom was game in a lot of ways. She taught us many of our street games, and I can remember her turning the rope for us and jumping herself out on the sidewalk! Our jump rope games used either one rope, or for a more challenging sport, two. Using two ropes was called "double dutch", and the one jumping as well as the rope turners would chant one of a huge number of playground ditties, which Mom also knew.

"I had a little puppy
His name was Tiny Tim
I put him in the bathtub, to see if he could swim
He drank all the water, he ate a bar of soap
The next thing you know he had a bubble in his throat.
In came the doctor, (person jumps in)
In came the nurse,( person jumps in)
In came the lady with the alligator purse (person jumps in)
Out went the doctor (person jumps out)
Out went the nurse (person jumps out)
Out went the lady with the alligator purse (person jumps out)"

"Oh Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,
All dressed in black, black, black,
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons,
All down her back, back, back.

She asked her mother, mother, mother,
For fifty cents, cents, cents,
To see the elephants, elephants, elephants,
Go over the fence, fence, fence.

They jumped so high, high, high,
They touched the sky, sky, sky,
And they never came back, back, back,
Until the fourth of July, lye, lye, lye."

As the game progressed, the rope turners would turn faster and faster, until ultimately of course you tripped.

"Not last night but the night before,
twenty-four robbers came knocking at my door
I asked them what they wanted, and this is what they said:
Spanish Dancer do the splits, the twist, the turnaround and touch the ground, and out the back door
Spanish Dancer please come back, back, sit on a tack, read a book and do not look",
(jump with eyes closed, everyone counting out loud: 1, 2, 3,
4, 5... until you miss)

Each of these Spanish Dancer moves were performed by the jumper.

I also remember Mom playing jacks with us on the kitchen floor, playing "fort" on rainy days with blankets draped over a card table, and the most fun of all, playing "war" with Larry. Cars had inner tubes in those days, and used ones were an endless source of creative fun. If you cut them across the tube, you had sturdy, large rubber bands. Then if you turned a dining room chair upside down, with the legs pointed at your opponent, you could stretch the rubber band quite a long ways, using the front chair leg for an anchor. Release the rubber band and it sailed a looooong way, or better yet, hit your opponent with a very satisfying "thwack!". We could, and did, get enough momentum to leave bruises, and loved this game. We had a long room which was a combined living room and dining room. It seemed huge, and was perfect for this sport. These inner tubes were also a perfect source for slingshot material. Jeeze, we were bloodthirsty little savages!

2008-04-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

sharing bookmarks

http://hubblesite.org/ -- visual wavelength

http://chandra.harvard.edu/ -- x-ray

http://www.spitzer.caltech.edu/-- thermal infrared

These are the last of the Great Observatories launched into space. All of them have some incredible and vibrant images of things that are real. Real shapes and forms that blow the back of your mind out with incomprehension.

How hot is a million degrees anyway? Does iron turn into platinum at that temperature?

Anyway, I’ll randomly pop into sites such as these and change the background on my desktop to an image. I like pretty images of chaos. It’s a nice juxtaposition.

Here is my current, Abell 520 :

“A complicated collision of galaxy clusters” is what they are calling it. At any rate, our taxpayer funds have been spent wisely on data management. The databases available through these sites are super-deep rabbit holes of galactic expansionism.

I'd like to make calendars with some of the best. Since the data is public we can profit from the sale. I called the public relations office once. It's cool, we can copy with attribution.

2008-04-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

Childhood play
The neighborhood where we grew up (1224 Athens Street) was a different world from today in San Francisco. The door to our house was unlocked all day, even if everyone had left home for school, work and shopping. At night, Daddy locked the door. All the homes had a one car garage, and each home owner had a maximum of one car if any. If we were going on short errands, the car was not taken out of the garage, we walked. For many excursions we used public transportation. There was a bus stop at the end of our block. The cars were kept in the garages so there were very few vehicles parked on the street. This left the street wide open for children to play, and we used it! There was a decent size group of kids in our immediate vicinity, and after school and on the weekends we were out on the sidewalk or in the street to play. "One foot off the gutter" and "dodge ball" were two of the games we played in the street. On the sidewalks we played jump rope, hop scotch or jacks (girls), rode our clamp on roller skates or one speed bicycles (boys and girls). Of course there were always the reliable "cops and robbers", or "cowboys and indians" group endeavors as well.

Play guns, gun belts, soldier gear and cowboy and cowgirl outfits were common toys. Flexies (factory made four wheeled coasters) and home made coasters were always a source of fun. The home made coasters were made from pieces of clamp on roller skates and whatever wood could be found. The steering mechanism involved a rope, and brakes were supplied by our feet.
We wore a specific set of clothes to school, and for girls that meant dresses. After school we changed into our "play clothes" and roared out the door. Girls were allowed to wear pants for play. It's hard to imagine now, but children were expected (go outside and play!) to play outside in public areas, without constant adult supervision. Parents did not worry much about the safety of their kids as long as they were within "the neighborhood", and what constituted the neighborhood grew progressively larger as we grew older.
The childhood girl playmates I remember were: Linda Genai, Janie Kaiser (famous for having her three year old younger brother dance naked in the living room window in front of all the kids), Dolly and Conny from around the corner, and Evelyn McCloud. Yes I'm the bratty looking one in the first row right, sitting next to Evelyn. The third boy from the right in the back row is Larry Castelli. He and I had the misfortune to be school mates our entire public school career, and endured endless teasing of "Abbott and Costello, Abbott and Castellli". We both heartily wished the other one would move, die or something to end the torment.

There was a series of four blocks of hill near us and we would laboriously skate or pedal up the four blocks, then go at top speed down each steep block, across the level cross street, down the next hill, and so on until we careened around the corner to our own block. If we were riding a coaster, we were out in the street for this stunt. When riding our skates, we used the sidewalk, and it took good coordination to jump off the curb at the bottom of the block, fly across the street, then jump the curb onto the next block successfully. It speaks of how little traffic there was, and how much adults watched out for reckless kids that none of us were hit.
During the summer we were allowed to play outside after dinner, and when the street lights came on, that was curfew for all of the kids.
We had a neighbor three houses away, Mr. Winkler, who was a policeman on parking enforcement patrol. He drove one of those motorcycle with two back wheels, and the great event of each afternoon was being allowed to ride on the back as he drove down his driveway into the garage. On Halloween, Mr. Winkler would thoughtfully bring home bags of illegal fireworks that the police had confiscated, and distribute them to the neighborhood children. We had a high old time with fire crackers, cherry bombs, and other more deadly explosives. We lit the fireworks with a "punk", which was a short piece of clothesline. We got the end of the clothes line burning, then kept it smoldering by blowing on it so we always had a live spark.

Truly it is amazing what we were allowed to do, and that we suffered no serious injuries. It is true however, that I had constant wounds and scabs on both knees (those damn dresses!) for most of my childhood years, and there are many family photos where I am carefully holding my dress down over each knee to hide the ugly marks of knee meeting concrete. See the photos and my kindegarten photo above.

We had a trapeze (a pipe hung from ropes) in our basement, and played on it regularly, swinging from our knees. After a few too many falls onto the concrete floor (!), Daddy put a mattress under it.

Note the ripped and patched knees on the pedal pushers.

2008-04-03T06:47:00.000-07:00

Grandmother comes to visit
In the early 1950's our Kansas Grandmother and Aunt Vivian came for a three week visit. Grandmother is second from the left in the photo, and Aunt Vivian is on the far right. They were lovely women, who wrote us weekly letters to keep in touch in those days before email, when long distance phone calls were reserved for death notices. Grandmother had been a farm wife all her life, and did not know how to live the life of idle visitor. We woke up every morning to the smell of yeast rolls baking for breakfast (yuuuuuuum) and after a day or so of doing "nothing" she finally asked my mom in desperation if she didn't have any rags. We had a large rag bag, so for the remainder of her visit Grandmother was happily occupied in turning those rags into rugs. These oval rugs were crocheted from our cast offs, and were used for many many years around the house, in the bathrooms and in front of the kitchen sink.
Aunt Vivian, just as industrious, occupied her time in doing needlework. It was on this visit that she taught me how to tat. Now tatting is a fairly obscure form of needlework, being a very fiddley and tedious way to make lace. Over the course of their visit, she very patiently taught me this old art form, and when they left I had my own tatting shuttle and a new skill. Aunt Vivian made a tatted bedspread, and was also skilled in quilting as was Grandmother. Joy and I have some quilts and quilt tops that were made by them. I also remember doing embroidery with Grandmother and Aunt Vivian, but this was a skill that had been taught to me by my mother.
Aunt Vivian was a maiden lady who never left home. She had a college degree from Pasadena Nazarene College, then returned home and worked in an office until her retirement. She supported her Mother after her Dad died in 1945. I don't know if Aunt Vivian had any male "admirers", and both she and Grandmother were much involved in their family and church circles. Aunt Vivian was a very shy, sweet and gentle lady who always took an interest in Larry, Joy and I. She wrote us frequent letters, and I can remember being reminded by Mom to write to Grandmother and Aunt Vivian each Saturday. When Aunt Vivian died in 1965, we found that she had a life insurance policy with us children as beneficiaries. It doesn't sound like much, but each of us inherited $1000.00 from Aunt Vivian, and it was enough for George and I to buy a house in Pacifica. The $1000.00 covered the down payment and closing costs on a $13,500.00 house in Sharp Park.

2008-04-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

Museum education.
When Scott and Lisa were around 11-12 years old, a special exhibit of French impressionists came to the De Young Museum. It was a wonderful show, and heavily attended. We took the kids to see this probably once in a lifetime chance to see these masterpieces. It was the kind of event where we dressed up a little to attend. We were looking at the Van Gough's in a very crowded room and Scott was reading the explanatory tags posted by the photos. Again during one of those eerie silences that fall upon a crowd now and then, his young voice rang through the room...."Mom, what is a broothel?" (Van Gough "The Brothel") The silence in the crowd became a hushed expectancy, as every ear in the room waited for the next move, and every person held their breath. Since Scott was old enough to have had "the talk" with his parents, and I do believe in honesty with children, I bent down close to his ear and whispered "it's a place where not very nice women let not very nice men have sex with them for money". An explosive and loud, "Oh Yuck" came from Scott and the whole room exhaled in a burst of laughter.

2008-04-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

Jail Break
Joy was a very quiet little girl, having much in common with Kiva today. However, she was not without her moments of enterprise. We were privileged to have separate bedrooms in our big house in San Francisco, and Joy's had a balcony. There were windows looking out on the balcony and these were open enough for a sliding metal slatted screen for ventilation (oh that wonderful San Francisco air!!!) The house had a full basement, then two living space levels, and the bedrooms were on the top floor.
One day, when Joy was near three years old, she was taking a nap in her room when my mother heard her voice....outside. Thinking quickly, my mom realized there was only one way she could be outside without having passed through the first floor and my mom seeing her. Mom bolted up the stairs, saw the ventilator removed from the window, and my sister sitting on the balcony rail enjoying the view down three stories to a concrete patio. Mom lunged through the window and grabbed Joy, dragging her to safety.
Those windows were no longer left open, but other ones on the top floor still were. So, move on to another day, not too long after the balcony episode. Most of the homes on our block were one story, and being city houses they were very close together, but did commonly have a narrow gap between each one, say a foot wide or so. This gap wasn't visible from the street since the fronts of the houses connected, but it must have been to allow utilities access.
Once again, Joy was supposed to be taking a nap....and her voice was heard outside. Mom again took the stairs two at a time to find the bathroom window open, and Joy three houses away on the roof. Another athletic squirm out the window, leap over the gaps and grab the child stunt for poor mother. That night, all the windows in the house were securely nailed shut by my Dad, preventing any further escape attempts by Joy. The windows weren't nailed completely shut, he made it so they all opened about 4 inches, so we could still get that fabulous breeze, but certainly not open enough to allow a small child to wiggle through.

2008-03-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

I remember Daddy laughing:
My Dad died in 1959, when I was 14 years old. Daddy was only 45. It is a defining event in our family life, and it is amazing that memories of him are so vivid after the passage of so much time. The most significant thing about my Dad (Henry Stanley Abbott, known as "Stanley") was his always sunny personality. Daddy worked hard at a physical job (plumbing, pipe fitting, steam fitting) and was on call on the weekends. He devoted a lot of time to the church as well. There were Wednesday night prayer meetings. Friday night missionary meetings (outreach to the slums and dives of San Francisco). Church board meetings (he always served in some capacity), and of course Sunday was a full day too: Sunday School, then Morning Service and evening service. How he managed to accomplish all of this in addition to home upkeep and being a good husband and Dad is beyond my understanding. I do remember him stretched out sound asleep on the couch :-).
With all of these responsibilities, Daddy enjoyed life. I remember him laughing, telling jokes, teasing and playing with us, but have no memory at all of him angry, sad, bullying or mean. Daddy told the corniest jokes in the world and laughed every time he told each old time worn story. "Why don't people go AWOL in Kansas?". "Because they can see you for three days" Kansas was his birthplace and is famously flat. The classic family joke was "what hangs on the wall and sings?" Answer = "custard pie". Of course this doesn't make any sense at all and isn't even funny. Which is what is funny about it. The blank look of bewilderment that resulted was what was funny. Ok, you don't get it, but Larry, Joy and I can be counted on to laugh hilariously whenever we tell this "joke"

When we children were sick, in the middle of the night, blowing chow everywhere, he could be counted on to sing "hasten Jason, bring the basin, oops too late, bring the mop" as he comforted, cleaned and helped put us back in bed.
If I give the impression that he was silly, that isn't correct at all. He had a deep spiritual life, and took his responsibilities seriously. Daddy just faced life without complaining, and loved the events and people of every single ordinary day. I was fortunate in many ways in my early childhood, but I think this was the best gift of all: I remember Daddy laughing.
I still miss him. This is one of the wedding photos of Mom and Dad.

2008-03-29T05:57:00.000-07:00

Educating the professor
When I was in college at San Francisco State University, Jim and Jonathon were quite young. Child care time was precious, and not always available to me, so when I had an afternoon meeting with my Mineralogy teacher, both of the boys went with me. I'm not sure of the date, but they were probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. My professor, Dr. Kirk, was an extremely odd individual, with many personality and physical quirks. However, he was a kind man and when I showed up with two small children, he showed them around the lab and displayed some of the mineral specimens. Thinking to edify and entertain them, he handed them both display samples of Halite, which is the rock salt we use at table. He showed them how they could be identified by crystal shape and taste; rubbing a wet finger on the sample and then inserting finger in mouth. We then proceeded with our discussion while both boys were quiet and occupied. When we concluded, we turned back to the children and Dr. Kirk asked for the rock samples back. Jim and Jonathon both looked at him in blank dismay; they thought the rock samples were gifts and had eaten them entirely. Dr. Kirk was absolutely nonplussed, who would have thought it? Since there was no retrieving the samples, they were written off as a learning experience for the professor, and I kept a close eye on the boys for a day or so to see if they would have any ill effects. They didn't seem to suffer from the experience, and after that could instantly identify Halite.

2008-03-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

Early connoisseur
When Lisa and Scott were in the age range of 9 to say 12 or so, Ken and I were on a wine tasting and appreciation kick. We would let the kids taste small amounts of the wine, to make it not too much of a forbidden mystery, make sure they knew something about wine when they grew up and also because a little bit is quite good for you. We enjoyed a particular vineyard - Joseph Phelps, which at that time was reasonable in price. Move on to a wedding reception, crowded, everyone in the buffet line. In one of those eerie moments of absolute quiet that occur during these gatherings, I hear my daughter's clear, carrying, bell like voice saying "mother, do they have any Gewurztraminer?" She must have been 10 or 11, and every head in the room turned in wonder to look. Hilarious.

2008-03-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

Ugly babies
Oh I know there aren't supposed to be any ugly babies, and it is true that they are all charming in their own way. Frankly, I've seen some mighty odd looking little ones, but they seem to be quite charming and lovely to their parents. I've wondered if my parenting skills would have stood up to the test of one of these funny looking kids, but thankfully, I've never been put to the test. All of my children (and grandchildren) have been absolutely beautiful. Now this is not just a fond parent's blind evaluation....every single one of them has been a "strangers stop you on the street to tell you how beautiful your baby is" type of kid. Jim had big dreamy blue eyes, straight blond hair, and the same charming sunny personality that Jack has today. Jonathon had curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, and the most winning smile in the world. Lisa, who grew into her wavy blond hair, started with curly dark brown hair. Her little round face with the green/hazel eyes just like her Daddy's, and luminous skin coloring, looked like a little russian princess. Adorable. Scott's amazing eyes were open when he was born and the Dr. said "you have a blue eyed boy". The other three children had the milky grey blue eyes typical of newborns that develop into their final color in the first couple of months. Scott's were electric blue from the beginning. You all know how beautiful Alexander, Kiva and Jack were as babies, and still are today. So, it's not just short sighted bragging to claim a family trait of lovely children. I'll rummage around for some baby pictures to post, the most critical observer will then have to concede that I am right.

2008-03-24T20:31:00.000-07:00

Learning how to share
Speaking of sharing, this is how my parents conquered that age old problem of "who gets the bigger piece" of whatever. With Larry and I, whatever item we were supposed to divide would be handed to us, with the instructions "one person cuts it in half, the other person picks first". Oh what an effective device that was. With slow, meticulous, eagle eyed precision, the treat would be divided in half by one of us, with the other watching breathlessly. Would their hand slip? Would their eye be out of whack so they couldn't judge correctly? Although we always hoped the other one would slip up, it never happened. I would wager that you could have measured the two pieces on an atomic scale and there would have been no significant difference in weight.

2008-03-24T09:27:00.000-07:00

The big softie and the little con artist
My brother Larry has had an unusually soft heart all his life. He is only 17 months older than I, but always has been protective and generous to me. I learned to exploit this valuable resource very early according to my Mom. We were often given treats, and they were always carefully in equal amounts for each of us. I was a greedy little girl, and ate mine down very quickly; I would then turn sad eyes on my brother, who was slowly savoring his snack. It worked every time. Larry would look at me, look away, look back, and just couldn't stand it. He would carefully break whatever he had in half and offer it to me. I, of course, selfishly took advantage of this benefit and ate every bit of mine and half of his. Larry hasn't changed in all these years, he still has a loving and giving heart, that's why we all love him, especially me.

2008-03-24T09:21:00.001-07:00

Water baby
Scott has been a water person from the beginning. When he was still crawling, we were at the river enjoying the sunshine. There was a very gradually sloping rounded gravel beach, which extended quite a way out into the water. Scott began crawling into the water as we watched, and knowing that as soon as the water began to get a little deep he would turn back, we didn't intervene. To our consternation, he just kept going, deeper, deeper, deeper, until he actually was beginning to float on down the river. At this point we were lunging for him, panicked that he might get swept away, even though the river was flowing quite slowly. Scott however, never did seem to mind or get frightened, water has always been a friendly environment for him. Cold water has never been an issue either; no matter what time of year it was, if we took him near an open body of water, he was swimming. We used to have an annual trip to Folsom Lake on New Years Day so he could go swimming.....brrrrr.

2008-03-23T20:47:00.000-07:00

Fashionista
One more, about Lisa. Lisa worked part time at Macy's (Serramonte) in their professional business women's wear dept when she was in high school. One day she called me at work and told me she had put aside some clothes for me to try on. I went to the store, and found a dressing room reserved for me, with a group of suits and dresses for me to try on. I had the loveliest time, trying on the clothes that my daughter had thoughtfully picked out for me. I put each one on and came out for her inspection. Lisa was very serious and businesslike, evaluating each ensemble critically, eyes narrowed, and giving me her verdict. Hmmm no, no, oh no that won't do!, and finally yes!, now THAT looks good. Her judgment was excellent, and I went away with a lovely green suit that I would not have even tried on without her intervention. It was the first of many role reversals to come as she changed from a little girl into a grown woman. I remembered vividly picking out clothes for her when she was little and being the one doing the evaluation. It was funny, exciting and a little sad to see her so grown up and moving on in her life.

2008-03-23T12:24:00.000-07:00

Easter baskets
Just a quick memory to get the day started. I asked Jim yesterday if he remembered any easter bunny events when he was a kid. Jim said the one he remembers is from when we were living in Washougal Washington in the trailer. He and Jonathon knew it was easter and were quite disappointed when they woke up and there were no easter eggs to be seen. We told them they had forgotten to clean out the chicken house, and they dejectedly went down the trail to do their chores. When they arrived at the chicken house, they found that the chickens had laid colored eggs, and there were additional baskets with the candy they were hoping for. This would have been in 1974

2008-03-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

Do you remember our pet tarantula "Harry" that we kept for a while in San Luis Obispo (1980)? We had no idea before living there that they were endemic to the area. We found one in the wild, not too far from our home. So, being the curious people that we are, we went back home, got a glass gallon pickle jug, and went back to capture the critter. He (arbitrary sex determination) was easily caught, and we triumphantly brought him home. We tried various items to make him comfortable...dried leaves, some twigs, a few rocks, and then began the search for what he would eat. We tried lettuce, rice, hard boiled eggs, various bugs the kids could find in the yard, but nothing really seemed to float his boat. Then we put a small piece of cantaloupe into his glass home, and the effect was startling. Harry's eyes seemed to bug out, he ran across the ground (they are surprisingly fast), arched his head back and then buried his whole face in the succulent ripe melon. We took that as a yes, and kept him well supplied. Harry was a fascinating bug, and in the gallon jar we could get a really close look at him in complete safety. All the kids were very interested, but none of us were much inclined to take him out and get better acquainted. They brought their friends in for viewings and were the toast of the neighborhood for the time. After a week or so, we took the gallon jar back to where we had found him and "set Harry free". He slowly walked away, seemingly unperturbed by his alien abduction experience, but I'm afraid he had a sad life after that, fruitlessly trying to get the other tarantulas to believe his otherworldly experience.

2008-03-21T08:52:00.001-07:00

Another memory, circa probably 1961 or so. Remember we did not have hand held blow dryers at that time. We put our hair up into rollers and then put a plastic sack over our rollers and connected a hair dryer hose to the sack and sat and waited for the hair to dry. So one day when I was in a big hurry to go somewhere, the hair dryer quit when I had a head full of wet hair on rollers. What to do??? I had read somewhere, one of those helpful hints published in women's magazines, that your could hook up your canister vacuum cleaner in reverse to dry your hair. So, I managed to connect the hair dryer hose to the outlet of the vacuum cleaner, and sat down smug at my resourcefulness. My hair did dry, vacuum cleaner howling away, but when I took off the bag and rollers, I found to my dismay that the entire contents of the vacuum bag had also been blown into my hair. Lint was plastered to every strand of my hair making it stand out stiff and filthy from my head. What a mess! I brushed, and brushed, and brushed some more, dislodging huge piles of debris, and I'm sorry to say I eventually got enough out that I thought I was presentable enough to go out! No one said anything to me, but what can they have been thinking?

2008-03-20T21:39:00.000-07:00

Kiva was here for her Grammie and Grandpa weekly play day. She is such a loving little heart, it is clear she is cherished by her parents and shown daily examples of family affection. Ken and I harvest the benefit of this training; for example, when I was dressing this morning, Kiva looked at me and said earnestly, "you are so pretty Grammie". And when I looked into those sweet eyes, I could see that I was to my small admirer. Later when we were walking into the hamburger joint for lunch, Kiva was riding on Ken's hip. She looked over his shoulder to me and sighed "I just love my Grandpa" as she tightened her grip around his neck. The young man walking adjacent to us flashed me a huge appreciative grin. We tell her often that she is our best girl, and that we love her just like she is. Kiva also is very sweet with Dancer, cuddles, pets and plays with her along with giving Dancer regular treats. Today Kiva discovered that every time she touched Dancer's nose, Dancer's tongue came out. For some reason, this was utterly hilarious, and was repeated endlessly to huge belly laughs.
Today was one of those days when I felt like we were doing the world a favor by bringing Kiva out. Most people we passed either looked at her and smiled, or smiled and spoke kindly to her. Kiva also tried on her new pink poncho from Auntie Joy, and just loved it. She looked so cute in it, and said that she liked it especially because it had a "princess hood". I think the big purple heart buttons helped too. Kiva told us she liked being four years old, but that Jack didn't like being one; he wants to be four too.
Tomorrow is our Flash Jack day, so I'm getting to sleep early.

2008-03-20T10:13:00.001-07:00

I haven't been blogging regularly at all, so to get myself inspired, I've decided to change the focus of Grammiejay blog to memories. I've got lots of them, like most people, and many of them involve my darling children....so to make sure future generations do not miss out on these fascinating recollections, I will add them to this blog as the spirit moves. Also will try to persuade my sister Joy to guest blog, since she is the deep data bank of family memories.

First recollection....
Jim, my first born, was a lovely baby, and pretty undemanding as far as babies go. Jim slept reasonably well, and had good digestion most of the time. I had done a lot of babysitting, since from an early age I was fascinated and charmed by these little ones, but had not much experience with the little tiny ones. I got a lot of advice from my Mom, and when Jim got very constipated at around 2 months of age, I called on her for help. Jim's little belly was tight, and he was clearly not feeling his usual good tempered self. When the usual remedies; more water, a little bit of prune juice, gentle belly rubbing, warm washcloth applied to belly, failed to work, my Mom advised more aggressive measures. Remember that she came from a time period when pharmacies didn't offer much more than aspirin, and folk remedies were very common. So mom told me to make a soap stick (a small match stick carving of plain bar soap) and shove it up his tiny butt and hold it there till it worked. I placed Jim face down on my lap, removed diaper, gently inserted soap stick and waited. Jim squirmed a bit, but didn't seem particularly uncomfortable and eventually it worked spectacularly. I remember the soap stick being shot clear across the room with a resounding long and loud fart, copious poop, and grateful sigh from both child and parent. Another one of those things that kid owes me for...sitting with my finger holding his tiny rectum shut for 10 minutes with him bent over my lap. Oh, and then the clean up too. I used this remedy at least once on each of the subsequent infants, and it remains one of those tried and true solutions to a common infant problem. One can buy glycerine suppositories in pharmacies that carry old fashioned stuff, but if you can't find these, well now you know what to do.

2008-02-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

This is an old photo of Jack and Kiva, but I love the happy faces. Ain't they cute???

2008-02-14T10:49:00.001-08:00

2008-02-14T10:43:00.000-08:00

I have let this blog languish for far too long. Thanks to the inspiration of Kristin...the new bright star in our family group...I will make another try at doing the blog thing.
It's valentines day, or as a friend of mine used to call it "St Hallmark's Day". It is a good thing to think about all the people you love in your life, although it should be far more often than once or twice a year! I am amazed at how blessed Ken and I are in family and circumstances. We do have some health challenges, but they are so minor in comparison with life threatening illnesses that they do not signify.
More soon..

2006-06-12T23:48:00.000-07:00

Another fun day with Kiva. She wakes up so rosy and sweet, it is hard to believe something earthly can be that luminous and beautiful. What a priviledge to have her in our lives! We went to the park this afternoon, and a seven year old boy (red head, two teeth missing, freckles) was just smitten with her. Hanging upside down on the monkey bars making faces at her, gently helping her on the slide, trying to hold her hand. Eventually they were settled in playing in the sand pile. Very cute boy, and he was successful at drawing Kiva out after her initial very shy response. Kiva is quite timid around the other bigger kids in the playground. They do get pretty rowdy and boisterous, and must be pretty scary to 'little bit". She loves to watch them though and has no fear of telling them "that's my bucket" if they lay hands on her sand toys. Amazing that 5, 6 and 7 year olds are so tolerant of the little ones. Today I told one little girl (5 or 6 maybe) that Kiva was just learning to share and wasn't very good at it yet. The little girl was quite understanding and made sure Kiva had her things close by while kids played with all the other stray toys scattered around the sand area.

Vanessa had another trip to the hospital this evening. She is now on meds to slow down the labor, but is now home and so far is not on complete bed rest. It so brings back memories of Jim's birth....he was three weeks late though, not early. I had to go to the hospital at least three times with "false labor" before he was born.

2006-06-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

Kiva is here for a sleepover. We have had a lovely day, mostly outside since the weather is fabulously balmy. Light breeze, just right temperature, a few clouds, blue skies. Todays events included a trip to the park with Ken and I, where there were many other children with their parents. Very friendly group, alert to the behaviour of their children. Very peaceful.

Kiva is doing story time with Ken right now. She is his little shadow, just loves to stand next to him and talk while he is doing anything at all. Her spontaneous affection is so touching, and the smiles that light her up just erase any negativity for at least a 500 foot radius.

We read an editorial in the New York Times this morning about the sad history of segregation in the military. Rooseveldt had the opportunity to integrate the miliary during WWII, but elected not to do so. The editorial was very critical of him and the consequences of that decision. Rooseveldt did many wonderful things for the working class that took great courage and energy on his part, and I suppose that he should be forgiven if he did not always do the right thing, since he so often did right. However, the consequences of this decision were so pernicous, that it cannot be hidden under the "context of other accomplishments" excuse. With the military officially segregated, the south was able to export their unlovely culture of hatred to the rest of the country. We had not realized it before, but this is almost certainly the origin of the segregated public housing conditions that Ken experienced in South San Francisco. Also likely the cause of the ugly covenants and restrictions that were placed on single family homes of the era. There is something even more repugnant that usual about segregation in the military during wartime. Segregation is always wrong and mean, but it is so excessively mean spirited when individuals risking their lives in defense of the United States are simultaneously made to feel unwanted and inferiour.

There are times when we (Ken and I) believe that bigots (of any kind) have some kind of genetic difference from the rest of the human population. Sadly most of us can be unkind in the abstract, advocating or allowing unjustice to exist as long as we don't have to be personally involved, or even better to not have to really really "know" about it. However, when it comes to individuals, what I consider to be a "normal" human being is unable to be deliberately unkind on a human to human basis. A true bigot however (the genetic defectives we postulate) can be coldly cruel, both pysically and verbally, to a child, a stranger, an old person etc. simply because of some perceived difference. This can be seen in those dreadful photographs of the harrassment of young students trying to integrate southern schools. The sheer bestial ugliness of the shouting individuals surrounding those brave souls is disheartening to use an inadequate description. How someone can look into the face of another human and tell them they cannot have a decent education, a decent place to live, a living wage job, a time of unmolested spiritual observance, or a loving human relationship is just unfathomable to me. There has to be something missing in a person who can act this way.

2006-06-10T09:26:00.001-07:00

Ok this seems to work fine.

Today is a beautiful California day...light breeze, sun shine, a few wispy clouds. We will be going to a heavily political play this afternoon, shopping at the natural foods coop, and then out to dinner. Trying to get out of the house more.

Ken is experimenting with the lathe, and is making serious progess on his bed and sideboard projects. When I came home from visiting grandbaby princess Kiva yesterdat, I could smell sawdust from the driveway.

The garden is flourishing, but the harvest is still small. I checked the potatoe plants and the red and white potatoes are coming along, about small egg size right now. Green tomatoes on the vine, and a couple of green peppers. Don't know about the cabbage, it's our first attempt and it still looks a little "unfurled" to me. Kiva picked a few carrotts last week, had grandpa wash them right away, and crunched them up between those pearly whites immediately. Her appetite is amazing and it is a joy to watch her tuck in.

I am continuing with my fiber projects. I'm spinning some lovely soft caramel brown merino, and am making good progress with the white lace wool shawl. The green lace shawl is taking a brief rest, as is the pair of socks and the camisole top. I'm getting ready to dye some wool with the coreopsis tinctoria we picked in South San Francisco last weekend, but need some alum mordant to continue. I'm hoping for a soft buttercup yellow.

We are thinking much about our current traveling child Scott. He is due back from Denmark late this month, and the family circle will feel much more complete with his return. We are expecting a lot of wonderful stories from him, written and verbal, and think his recent description of traveling in the middle east shows great promise. Having Lisa and Chris close has been a wonderful change in our core group. We have loved seeing Joy (and now Dave), Jim, Vanessa and Kiva on a regular basis, but having Lisa and Chris around will certainly add some zing to gatherings. Their housewarming babecue was a success, and we drove home comfortably well fed and admiring their creative home.

I spent some time visiting with Vanessa yesterday. She is blooming and in good spirits as usual, and taking each day as it comes with the new baby project. I wish I could carry the little guy for an hour or two just to give her a break, but it don't work that way. Maybe it is part of the joy of childbirth, to get that physical relief as well as the pure psychic joy. The babe's name is still up in the air, but I'm sure they will settle on a wonderful, appropriate name that they are both happy with. If not, well "snugglebunny" should work for a year or two. :-)

2006-06-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

This is my first post, to experiment with the blog world