It has not rained in San Francisco yet. It has been three months and nary a drop in sight. the hillsides are golden...completely golden. No trace of life.
There is a puddle though...early in the morning around the corner...thanks to a sprinkler system.
A little boy I know tried to jump his bike over it this morning on his way to school. He didn't quite make it, but as the water splashed a grin brightened his entire face. He doesn't know that yesterday morning I watched him ride through it and that enchanting smiled appeared again.
A boy and a mud puddle. Both are fleeting.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
"I miss Switzerland," she finally admitted.
"Really?" The surprise is undisguised.
Uncomfortably she shifts her weight, as her eyes avoid his gaze. Gradually, she breathes deeply.
Then even more quietly continues, "All my friends and family are there."
"Aren't you meeting people here?" came the nonchalant response.
The big beautiful eyes rapidly blink. The long blonde hair hangs down her back. Her daughter clings to her mother's leg and tightly clutches two favorite books in her other hand. The titles are in German. Her brown hair gently curls around her delicate little face. When the barrage of the foreign world becomes too much she buries her face in her mother's skirt. On cue her mother's hand gently strokes her hair.
Craving the language of home...
"Really?" The surprise is undisguised.
Uncomfortably she shifts her weight, as her eyes avoid his gaze. Gradually, she breathes deeply.
Then even more quietly continues, "All my friends and family are there."
"Aren't you meeting people here?" came the nonchalant response.
The big beautiful eyes rapidly blink. The long blonde hair hangs down her back. Her daughter clings to her mother's leg and tightly clutches two favorite books in her other hand. The titles are in German. Her brown hair gently curls around her delicate little face. When the barrage of the foreign world becomes too much she buries her face in her mother's skirt. On cue her mother's hand gently strokes her hair.
Craving the language of home...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
"Do you have 3 A's?"
My mind scrambles to decipher the language. As a teacher at heart, I immediately think of grades, but I am no longer a student, so it shouldn't be referring to grades. Apples, avocados, Artichokes. Probably not. What else could it be?
Seeing my blank look, she continues, "3 A's auto services?"
Aaahhh...Triple A...in my language. (AAA)
English is a crazy language and while many folk around here do in fact speak another language. English is an equally different language in different places. It isn't right or wrong. Just different.
It is like the grocery store, I wander the isles trying to figure out how the items are organized while scanning for familiar labels. The process is grueling. Melodramatic? Perhaps, but honestly it takes hours to navigate a grocery store with proficiency.
It different parts of the country the pattern of stores varies vastly. People organize and categorize information to help navigate the world. It helps us predict and anticipate thus aiding proficiency (and reducing stress). However, all my carefully organized information from every move is useless, as my brain desperately tries to determine the pattern, so I am reprogramming as I circle the store for the third time frustrated that I can't figure out where to find the lime juice.
I spend a lot of time these days watching and listening for clues. The valuable clues that will enable me to navigate this strange world a bit more proficiently.
Sometimes, I see a familiar label and buy it just because I crave the comfort of a recognizable pattern.
And the lady who lives on the neighboring block always stops to visit if she sees me because she craves a familiar conversation. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh, so she loves to chat about "home" with someone who knows the country. Even after 20+ years in California, she wants to talk about the Steelers, autumn, and the city in the context only locals understand.
The language of "home" is powerful.
My mind scrambles to decipher the language. As a teacher at heart, I immediately think of grades, but I am no longer a student, so it shouldn't be referring to grades. Apples, avocados, Artichokes. Probably not. What else could it be?
Seeing my blank look, she continues, "3 A's auto services?"
Aaahhh...Triple A...in my language. (AAA)
English is a crazy language and while many folk around here do in fact speak another language. English is an equally different language in different places. It isn't right or wrong. Just different.
It is like the grocery store, I wander the isles trying to figure out how the items are organized while scanning for familiar labels. The process is grueling. Melodramatic? Perhaps, but honestly it takes hours to navigate a grocery store with proficiency.
It different parts of the country the pattern of stores varies vastly. People organize and categorize information to help navigate the world. It helps us predict and anticipate thus aiding proficiency (and reducing stress). However, all my carefully organized information from every move is useless, as my brain desperately tries to determine the pattern, so I am reprogramming as I circle the store for the third time frustrated that I can't figure out where to find the lime juice.
I spend a lot of time these days watching and listening for clues. The valuable clues that will enable me to navigate this strange world a bit more proficiently.
Sometimes, I see a familiar label and buy it just because I crave the comfort of a recognizable pattern.
And the lady who lives on the neighboring block always stops to visit if she sees me because she craves a familiar conversation. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh, so she loves to chat about "home" with someone who knows the country. Even after 20+ years in California, she wants to talk about the Steelers, autumn, and the city in the context only locals understand.
The language of "home" is powerful.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Indian Summer
Recently, I have heard murmuring among the natives about Indian Summer.
I never imaged it would be so wonderful. The warm California sun climbs through the sky and as evening falls the warmth of the day is shrouded in darkness.
For the first time all season I am still warm at nightfall. Last night we were at Yogurtouie, and as we sat on the bench at the corner of B Street and 2nd enjoying our tasty treats, Kade entertained us with his new moves--the Sponge Bob dance. No jackets needed (a first).
On our ride home, as we curved around the overpass, Nikela inhaled sharply, "Look at the moon!"
The brilliant orange orb was rising and a few sparse clouds were drifting by. The clear blue sky was rapidly darkening, but it was tinted pink by the setting sun.
Once at home, I enthusiastically grabbed my camera for a feeble attempt at capturing the majestic night sky of California. As I approached the lagoon near the bay, the moon's reflection in the water took my breathe away. As Kade stood beside me, we listened to the calling of the birds in the stillness...a rare moment of solitude in the city.
Picture perfect, but ironically I was unable to capture the perfection of the moment as my camera was irritated by my insistence to shot in the dark. Eventually, I gave up and just enjoyed the moment.
I never imaged it would be so wonderful. The warm California sun climbs through the sky and as evening falls the warmth of the day is shrouded in darkness.
For the first time all season I am still warm at nightfall. Last night we were at Yogurtouie, and as we sat on the bench at the corner of B Street and 2nd enjoying our tasty treats, Kade entertained us with his new moves--the Sponge Bob dance. No jackets needed (a first).
On our ride home, as we curved around the overpass, Nikela inhaled sharply, "Look at the moon!"
The brilliant orange orb was rising and a few sparse clouds were drifting by. The clear blue sky was rapidly darkening, but it was tinted pink by the setting sun.
Once at home, I enthusiastically grabbed my camera for a feeble attempt at capturing the majestic night sky of California. As I approached the lagoon near the bay, the moon's reflection in the water took my breathe away. As Kade stood beside me, we listened to the calling of the birds in the stillness...a rare moment of solitude in the city.
Picture perfect, but ironically I was unable to capture the perfection of the moment as my camera was irritated by my insistence to shot in the dark. Eventually, I gave up and just enjoyed the moment.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
September 22
Joan Jett. Andrea Bocelli. Anna Karina. Tommy Lasorda.
1499--Switzerland became an independent state.
1888--First issue of National Geographic
1910--Duke of York's picture house opens in Brighton
1954--Fiddler on the Roof opened at Imperial Theatre in Manhattan
1991--Dead Sea scrolls are made available to the public
1997--Tribute to Diana is released--"Candle in the Wind"
While all of these birthdays and details in history are interesting, I did not know any of them until now. What I did know was that today in my history is my sister Kristi's birthday. Thus it is a special day to me.
On August 19, I was chatting with my uncle, he commented that it was my mother's birthday. A few years have passed since her arrival in the world, but her brother still remembered.
As I have grown older, I realize that events and people will come and go...but my sister will always be there. I can call her and tell her that Kade is good enough to play in-house hockey already, and she will share my enthusiasm. I can call her when I am worried about my oldest daughter, as she adjusts to yet another school and she will care...deeply. I can share life's joys and laughter and disappointments and tears, and she will embrace them all with me. I can tell her I kinda want to write, and she will push me to blog (well, shove actually...) because she knows what I need. I can make her mad, and she will forgive me.
Sisterly love. Knowing when to listening. Knowing when to gently pick you up. Knowing when to laugh. This unconditional relationship is a very special gift.
One I try not to take for granted.
In six weeks, I should see my sister's smiling face when I get off the plane in Indiana. I can't hardly wait. In my anticipation, I feel like a girl again...scrambling off the school bus and running to the house watching for that familiar curly head to bob around the corner, and then I would know she was ready with a squeeze and sweet smile...and my heart would sing.
It will be our last visit before she begins her motherhood journey. I will have a suitcase filled with little things and favorite recipes. The warmth of the kitchen will beckon as she sits and chats with me, as I make myself at home. Kevin will good-naturedly endure. Hopefully there will be leftovers that I can freeze, and later when she reheats them the smell will waif from the stove and remind her of our days together.
I love her back deck, and I can't wait to sit there in the morning with my tea and bask in the sunshine and vibrant autumn colors...it is my favorite time of year and it simply is not the same here in California. I cannot wait.
In the meantime, Happy Birthday, Kristi!
1499--Switzerland became an independent state.
1888--First issue of National Geographic
1910--Duke of York's picture house opens in Brighton
1954--Fiddler on the Roof opened at Imperial Theatre in Manhattan
1991--Dead Sea scrolls are made available to the public
1997--Tribute to Diana is released--"Candle in the Wind"
While all of these birthdays and details in history are interesting, I did not know any of them until now. What I did know was that today in my history is my sister Kristi's birthday. Thus it is a special day to me.
On August 19, I was chatting with my uncle, he commented that it was my mother's birthday. A few years have passed since her arrival in the world, but her brother still remembered.
As I have grown older, I realize that events and people will come and go...but my sister will always be there. I can call her and tell her that Kade is good enough to play in-house hockey already, and she will share my enthusiasm. I can call her when I am worried about my oldest daughter, as she adjusts to yet another school and she will care...deeply. I can share life's joys and laughter and disappointments and tears, and she will embrace them all with me. I can tell her I kinda want to write, and she will push me to blog (well, shove actually...) because she knows what I need. I can make her mad, and she will forgive me.
Sisterly love. Knowing when to listening. Knowing when to gently pick you up. Knowing when to laugh. This unconditional relationship is a very special gift.
One I try not to take for granted.
In six weeks, I should see my sister's smiling face when I get off the plane in Indiana. I can't hardly wait. In my anticipation, I feel like a girl again...scrambling off the school bus and running to the house watching for that familiar curly head to bob around the corner, and then I would know she was ready with a squeeze and sweet smile...and my heart would sing.
It will be our last visit before she begins her motherhood journey. I will have a suitcase filled with little things and favorite recipes. The warmth of the kitchen will beckon as she sits and chats with me, as I make myself at home. Kevin will good-naturedly endure. Hopefully there will be leftovers that I can freeze, and later when she reheats them the smell will waif from the stove and remind her of our days together.
I love her back deck, and I can't wait to sit there in the morning with my tea and bask in the sunshine and vibrant autumn colors...it is my favorite time of year and it simply is not the same here in California. I cannot wait.
In the meantime, Happy Birthday, Kristi!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Hey Lady!
With trepidation, I turned to acknowledge the voice.
"You really know how to park that rig (Yukon XL)."
Relieved, I listened, as he continued.
"I couldn't believe it when I watched you pull into that parking spot. I can't do that, so I just park my big truck way down there," he said, as he pointed to the far end of the parking lot.
Embarrassed, I laughed, "Well, my dad taught me to drive on the farm..."
"Well, you are a heck of a driver."
And he was gone.
"You really know how to park that rig (Yukon XL)."
Relieved, I listened, as he continued.
"I couldn't believe it when I watched you pull into that parking spot. I can't do that, so I just park my big truck way down there," he said, as he pointed to the far end of the parking lot.
Embarrassed, I laughed, "Well, my dad taught me to drive on the farm..."
"Well, you are a heck of a driver."
And he was gone.
Not in Kansas...
Like Dorothy, Kiahra had a feeling she was not in Pittsburgh anymore during her live Monday night football experience.
MIA...the tailgating...the unique presentations of black and gold...the Troy Palumalu hair...spirited fans...deafening roar of the crowd...
It simply wasn't the same. She will forever love the Steelers because there she was swept into the passionate Steeler world that is not duplicated anywhere in her world :)
MIA...the tailgating...the unique presentations of black and gold...the Troy Palumalu hair...spirited fans...deafening roar of the crowd...
It simply wasn't the same. She will forever love the Steelers because there she was swept into the passionate Steeler world that is not duplicated anywhere in her world :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
