Black electrical tape.

My father could fix anything with black tape. I thought it was magic when I was a kid.

My son loves black electrical tape too.

The shin guards for hockey also include protection for the knees, so these big guards tend to shift even when covered with hockey socks, so Kade wraps the guards in place with...yep...black tape. Now he even creates patterns with the tape that stand out against the gray socks.

After practice, I watched him rip the tape away.

I was grinning, remembering my childhood memories, and he noticed.

"I love black tape, mom!"

His impish smile made me chuckle.

He is his grandfather's grandson.

Who knew a love of black electrical tape would be genetic?

City by the Bay

San Francisco beckoned again today. This glorious view is from Coit Tower, a landmark of the city. Ironically I never took a picture of the tower, as I was too enamored with the scene from the hilltop.

Our next stop was the Palace of Fine Arts--fully refurbished from the Panama Pacific International Exposition that San Francisco hosted. The World Fair celebrated the opening of the Panama Canal and sought to establish the city of San Francisco as a key port.

Last spring Fred shared a story with me...

In 1915 the World Fair graced the streets of San Francisco. As Tam Shee reminisced about her visit to the famous fair, her second son listened.

Then she turned to him, “You were there.”

“Mother,” Fred Yam gently protested, “I wasn’t born until 1916.”

“You were there,” she insisted.

Quizzically, he studied his aging mother.

Smiling, she revealed, “You were with me. I was pregnant with you.”






Strolling down the sidewalk, the palace came into my view for the first time. I was quiet...awestruck by the massive columns that greeted me. My imagination had not prepared me. We walked in silence. A solemn air seemed to permeate the structure.

Eventually, I heard Fred's voice soft beside me, "I wonder what my mother thought when she was here."

My silent reflections verbalized.

96 years ago.

Challenge

Gone With The Wind.

A literary classic I have not read.

The book itself is daunting. It is big and heavy. The pages are dense with words.

Kiahra selected this book as a challenge with the prompting of her English teacher.

Today, she challenged me to read it too.

I downloaded the electronic version. It isn't as daunting at first glance.

I think I can do it!

Then she sneaks a deadline into the deal. I have until October 7.

I better start reading!

Farmer's Market

Bread. Asiago and jalapeno. Whole Wheat Braid. Perfect soft texture on the inside. Barely crispy on the outside. Savory every bite.



Fresh fruit galore. Sweet grapes disappeared quickly. Peaches and cream are on the menu for tomorrow. Pluots munched as I type.



Bright, healthy lettuce begging for a salad.



Uncovered irresistible root vegetables. And the green beans...no explanation necessary.

I finally uncovered this farmer's market last week completely by accident. I returned today very intentionally. The variety is endless. The growers are friendly and helpful. The experience takes the drudgery out of grocery shopping. I find myself inspired. I come home and create.

Even though I drug her out of bed, Kiahra loved tasting and exploring the market--and she wants to go again.

And the best part?? This farmer's market is open year around!

Be Careful...

You may become what you do not like.

My driving is becoming suspiciously like a Californian's.

I may call it survival.

I may claim to use my horn in self defense.

I may merge at 65 mph demanding my place in the lane.

I may use all five or six lanes.

I may brake suddenly.

I may mutter under my breath sometimes.

I may pretend I am not like "them".

Though I never, ever roll through a right hand turn.

I never, ever make a stupid move because I miscalculated my destination. I always just try again until I figure out how to get there. I am polite like that.

Obviously my balance is tilted...California is definitely changing the way I drive. But dad, I promise to leave it at the state line :)

Love

Saturday brought a wonderful surprise all the way from Indiana. She brought her mommy too, but she doesn't smile so cutely for the camera!



Kaiya shared her smiles with us generously...particularly if she was safely in the stroller or her mama's arms. Though if it appeared we weren't paying attention to her, we could expect a tap on the arm or an endearing shriek to help us refocus our attention.



Irresistable creamy, soft baby cheeks...made just for kissing.



Kaiya delighted in "getting" Kade. She loved playing in the shower of attention her cousins bestowed upon her.



And Kade loved her blackberry/raspberry face! He captured this priceless expression with a bit of perseverance.

Today Little Miss Kaiya is helping her mama turn another year older...though I suspect she has been helping her mama age daily as she explores the world around her!

Happy Birthday, Kristi!

The Store

I sent my son to the store last night for a couple items...though his sister added to the list before handing it to her brother.

He loves to ride his bike. He enthusiastically embraces my errands. He grabs his backpack and the money I extend, and he is off pedaling two miles.

Upon his return, he sauntered into the house and began unloading his backpack. I was standing in the kitchen working and watching him...when he lifted a 10 pound bag of sugar out! I stared in utter amazement.

"Kade, your were carrying that in your pack?" I inquired incredulously.

"Yeah," he nonchalantly answered pulling more items from his backpack.

"You carried 10 pound of sugar on your back while pedaling your bike?" I persisted.

"It weighs that much? No it doesn't," he countered and paused to look at me.

"Yes, it does. Read the bag," I demanded.

He acknowledged that the bag claimed to be 10 pounds, but he persisted in telling me it really wasn't that heavy.

My little boy scout hikes through the mountains with a 25 pound pack, so maybe he really didn't think it was too heavy. I tried to assuage my guilt all night by justifying the trip as good training for his next hike...unsuccessfully.

A New World

Into San Francisco I cruised yesterday with the gentleman who is sharing his life's story with me. No need for a GPS, as the boy who grew up in Chinatown still knows his way around like the back of his hand. He took me right down to the heart of Chinatown which is now a one-way street. The narrow sidewalks are bustling with activity and people...sometimes spilling over into the streets.

My heart was thumping as I carefully navigated the road, though traffic was relatively light since it was mid-day. The lanterns swayed overhead and the lucky color red decorated most shop fronts as Fred chatted. A few more turns and we arrived at the parking garage. We rode the elevator up and exited at a park in the heart of the Chinatown.

Clusters of men were everywhere talking animatedly with words I didn't understand. As we walked, I discovered they were playing games on top of makeshift cardboard tables--some with a deck of cards and others with intricate Chinese pieces. Fred had told me the Chinese love to gamble and play games, and here was the proof.

By my side, Fred was trying out his new cane. Well, it isn't really new, as he has had it for 3 years, as I discovered when he informed me he was using it for the second day. He was too proud for a cane before, but his balance is increasingly tottery. I had encouraged him to think about taking it out after he confided last week the doctor told him it is time to use a cane.

He didn't want his wife to know--"you know how women are. She sold my car when 'they' decided I shouldn't drive anymore". That is what I love about Fred he just tells it like it is. He doesn't embellish his stories or enhance them. Of course, he will also admit, "It was probably time, but even then I would wait until she left and drive her car."

Anyway, Fred informed me that all important information in Chinatown can be learned in the park. It is the unofficial center of town. Of course, it wasn't so fancy 95 years ago.

The old Chinese man garnered instant respect on the sidewalks. He walked very slowly uphill using his cane. He refused to stop until he reached the end of the block. The hills are steep here. Very steep. As he rested I gazed into the store windows. When he was ready we turned and headed down another block.

Then he proclaimed, "We are here."

I couldn't see anything. He pointed to an opening in a building that led to a recessed door. A restaurant.

"I am bringing you in the back way," he grinned.

We walked through the bar and into the dining room that overlooked the street of Chinatown. Utterly delighted, I was seated by a window. Fred could see my excitement and he asked me if I knew what I wanted to eat. I assured him I had no idea. Eyes twinkling, he asked if I liked dim sum. I have only had it once with friends who were visiting. Luckily I knew that the oldest person at the table orders from a selection of food that is presented throughout the meal. I sat back and let Fred take care of the details. The waitress initially presented the options in English but quickly slipped into her first language and I realized it was the first time I had heard Fred speak Cantonese. The food was delightful. Fred poured my tea and we talked.

The restaurant is the oldest in Chinatown. Fred suspected it must be nearly 100 years old. When he was a boy, on rare occasions his mother would send him to this very restaurant (different owners) for dim sum. Carefully clutching the money she gave him, he would dash up the block and bring back the food. It was special treat, and he delighted at the memory.

The alley street he was born on intersected at the restaurant...and it was only 1/2 block away. We drank more tea. As the meal ended, the waitress handed Fred the check. Obviously, it was his role.

Back on the street, I could see people studying me, as I moved slowly and carefully beside Fred, I am sure they were wondering what my relationship to him was. Granddaughter? But I don't look Asian. I could almost see their thoughts.

Anyway, we paused on the sidewalk in front of the building where he grew up. He explained how the store had two big windows and a center door. He pointed to the second floor where they lived. Two more stories towered overhead for more tenants.

He mentioned playing in the streets as a boy...we were the "commercial street gang" he reminisced with a smile and shake of his head. I know sometimes he was caught in his own memories as he paused leaning on his cane. He was stepping back in time, and though I was curious about his thoughts, I did not interrupt.

Then we walked by the clothing factory where his mother worked for many years.

Suddenly, we were back at the park again. Fred definitely knows all the routes around Chinatown. He hasn't forgotten anything in the years he has been away. He is still a boy here. Once again we meandered through the small gatherings of men playing games. I suspect they talked about me too.

Back in the car, Fred could rest as he directed me to the Chinese Historical Society Museum. It is a small museaum, and and he spotted a parking spot nearby. He decided I was good luck because parking spots are rare.

We browsed the museum together, and sometimes he paused to rest. Then I suggested I would bring the car to the front where an area was designated for pick-up and and drop-off. He told me he wouldn't argue, as it was uphill to the car. As I hiked up the hill and climbed into the car and navigated the light, he leaned against a low brick window ledge and rested. When I arrived, he was joined by another gentleman. He too leaned on a cane, but he had a long white beard. As Fred moved forward at my approach the other gentleman bid him farewell. As Fred climbed into the car, I told him I couldn't leave him anywhere and he would find trouble.

He laughed and told me, "That was interesting. That man stopped and asked me how old I was. I told him. Then he told me he was 90. Just a baby!"

Two old Chinese men leaning against the red brick building in the shade next to the narrow sidewalk. Lives that have seen so many changes in our world.

As we arrived at home, I suspect Fred was tired, but he was happy. He thanked me for the day. "It has been at least 10 years since I visited Chinatown. My wife (10 years his junior) doesn't drive in the city, but she isn't a very good driver." Pragmatic again. Just telling me how it is.

I learn so much from this man.

I asked him if he would go again because I want him to take me on a driving tour to show me his high school and the Barbaury Coast where he delivered newspapers.

Enthusiastically, he told me, "You tell me when," and added, "We can go another place for lunch too."

Chinatown is home to him, and a whole new world for me. Together we will explore.



PS...somehow my camera card wasn't in my camera...and thus all my photos are non-existent...hopefully next time...

Evening Drama

(I enter the room. Kiahra and Kade are engaged in an animated conversation. Nikela is leaning back in her chair smiling. Oblivious I walk to the kitchen."

Kiahra: "What class do you have second period?"

Nikela: "Mom, you should be listening to this!"

Kade: (Not noticing interruption) "Bravo."

Kiahra: "Then I pass you on the way to third period."

(I am thinking...boring...why do I need to listen?)

Seeing the look on my face, Nikela interjects.

Nikela: "They are planning how to pass off the PE shirt."

(Ah-hah! Kiahra's PE shirt is MIA. She searched the house to no avail. It is mandatory to wear the assigned shirt...tomorrow. It is 9:30 PM)

Kiahra: "And mom, it is perfect because your shirt has to have your first initial and name written on it. K. Klinghagen!"

Mom: "Very clever."

And the plotting continues.

I was...

at home ten years ago with my little ones...ages 1,3, and 5 when the telephone rang. A friend who knew I seldom watched television told me to turn it on. As I watched the horror play out from my quiet Montana community, I remembered visiting New York City that spring with my sister. I had seen the twin towers and taken them for granted, not to mention we had ridden the subway to the World Trade Center. It was surreal to watch the attacks unfold.

Today I met a woman who just moved here from Pennsylvania near Philadelphia. As we chatted, she mentioned the anniversary of 9/11, and I learned she was working in Manhattan that day. Her husband watched the second plane hit and rushed to get his wife who could only see the debris floating by her window. The day is obviously etched in her memory permanently. The trauma is revealed in her voice and facial expressions...the emotions still strong.

We were all in different places that day, but each of us carries a memory of the day.

Ol' Truck

Once upon a time, long, long ago a young girl learned to drive on the farm. On this farm was a big tilt cab truck.

The farmer patiently endured the young girl's driving. Once when she took a corner too tight trying to cross the irrigation ditch...the farmer waved frantically from the tractor. Luckily the young girl stopped in time, thus the farmer rescued the old truck from a watery grave.

The old truck endured the inexperience of the young girl's driving and even survived.

Though it still sits on the farm, it is thankfully quite content to let me tell on myself.

It is because of this ol' truck I can drive my 30 foot camper around the country to many folks' amazement.

My daughter starts driver's ed tomorrow, and I wish the ol' truck and farmer could share their experience with her...

Silly Girls

A digital camera is almost like a photo booth film strip.



Capturing all the goofy moments...



...and love.

Cooling Off...

in Chico, California with our cousins!



Smiling and giggling in delight the younger generation raced through the fountain soaking up the fun!


While the older generation gravitated towards another fountain...



established in 1938 with a tradition of homemade ice-cream and candy.



Yumm...lemon sherbet.



Triple scoop Chico mint.



As the sun slowly sank, we lingered outside enjoying our treats in the warm evening air...yep that is the entire clan occupying a couple tables!

Good morning, Sacramento River!



Campin'

Fishin'

Relaxin'

Playin'

A weekend made for family on the banks of the river. I loved gazing out over the river...especially at night as the reflection of the moon rippled.

Tagine

While shopping, I stumbled upon this cool-looking pot. I had entertained the idea of clay pot cooking recently, and this seemed close...and I loved the design of the dish, so I bought it. It is called a tagine. I had to look up the pronunciation.

Luckily, I got a great deal on the tagine, so I could promptly spend my savings on cookbooks that would teach me how to use it!

The tagine is Moroccan. The ingredients needed for Moroccan food are not readily available in the grocery store. Luckily, there are many specialty grocery stores here. On an adventure Kade, Chayse, and I went. Several hours later we had explored all the possibilities in our neighborhood...but we were successful.

Ingredients in hand we began chopping and cooking. Our first recipe was for a meatball tagine. Kade sautéed the seasonings as I worked on creating meatballs. Then the dish simmered on the stove. The fragrance was unbelievable!

During the last few minutes of cooking, eggs are added to the center of the dish and cooked...almost like poached eggs.



It was a delightful meal.

Not all of my kitchen boredom results in good food, but we loved this!

I really liked the way the tagine cooked on my gas cooktop. As I get better, I suspect I may use it for cooking American dishes too :)