For the tourists - for us

When I first met James, he invited me to stop by his house, he described it as such - 'Halfway down the block off 13th, you know the one with the CDs in the trees.' I thought to myself, 'Who is this tall handsome man touched with a little bit of crazy?'

Gainesville doesn't offer much for tourists or even for residents in terms of sightseeing. You can see Ben Hill Griffin Stadium - woo hoo. Other parts of campus - if you can figure out parking. If you want to see homeless people, hang out at the main branch of the library or in the downtown square. Ummm what else do we have... a couple of museums (on campus - again with limited parking) - Paynes Prairie, lovely, but really on the outskirts. The mall - I don't go there, but some people do. I'm sure I'm missing something that the city provides...

Where the city fails James comes in. Our yard is a stop on many-a-travelers list. Children make demands to round the block and squeal with delight at the buoys, chimes, and, even the CDs catching light in the trees. Passers-by slow down whether biking, driving, walking or jogging, to look. Even dogs take their time to pounce on the light rays projected by the CDs.

In winter, the yard is filled with camellias of all colors, shapes and sizes. People ask to take them home. In spring, the giant blooming azaleas and dogwoods follow. In summer when plants are merely green and CDs are lost in the trees, we adorn the sidewalk with chalk drawings, there for a bit, then washed away by regular rains. In the fall, giant sycamore leaves drop in grand proportion to the ground - the only sycamores on the block and one of the only signs that autumn has come to Florida.

I've found ways to participate in the changing seasons and the joy that the yard produces in those who walk by. But James started it - and the family who lived here and planted the amazing shrubs started it before him. I was thrilled beyond description last week, when, in the rain, James climbed the ladder to add 17 new CDs where fallen leaves once were.

I'll be your fire starter

James has an uncanny ability to start a fire. He stacks things, he adds a little paper, a little air flow, and - poof - gigantic fire so hot you can't get within five feet of it. My frustration with this talent is two-fold 1) he makes it look easy 2) he thinks everyone should have his fire-making capabilities.

In his absence, whether away for the night or out in the yard, I'm left in charge of fire-starting and tending. I'm not bad at this job, I may even go so far as to say that I'm pretty good at it; I split and stack the wood when needed, I keep it dry, I am fairly attentive (though I do get distracted at times) I have a system and it generally works, but I'm definitely not James. I've watched his process for years, attempting to mimic his methods and. However, my fires continue to be slow to start, typically small to medium-ish in size, and, ultimately, they exist without much drama (and not a huge heat output).

Each time I work what I believe is a really good fire, I think, "This is the best one ever - it can't get any hotter than this - James will be so impressed." Yet, he'll enter the room, approach the fire, make mention of the fact that it is dying out and magically fit 7 more pieces of wood in the small space increasing the heat output by 1000%.  

flat rate boxes - friend or foe

I'd like to apologize to my siblings and parents in advance for the packages that you will receive from me this holiday season. Not because the gifts are unsentimental or poorly planned, but because I watched and was won over by those USPS commercials. You know the one where the wife makes a deal with her husband and he goes shopping and she ships the gifts....

I, like many others I'm sure, went to the post office and acquired various sized flat rate boxes to mail my loved ones their presents -only to find that the awkward shapes do not lend themselves to shipping anything at all. A single item rolls around - while more than one are smashed uncomfortably up against one another. Ultimately, it just doesn't work.

My sister, bless her heart, is going to find that the packages I wrapped that didn't fit in the medium nor the large size flat rate box, were wrapped then unwrapped (by me) - removed from their boxes, all extraneous materials removed to allow extra space and then presents were re-wrapped and crammed back into the box,which was eventually, successfully sealed. (The biggest victory of the evening was getting the box closed)

But was it really a success? The gifts that I took the time to make, gather, coordinate, now smashed mercilessly into a box marked flat rate? What am I saving - really? Not money, I have no idea how much it would cost just to send it in a regular  box, one appropriate to the size of the objects it will hold. Also, not time; I painstakingly wrapped the gifts once, tried to pack them in the box, then unwrapped, then re-wrapped, then jammed them into the box  in a fit of frustration in the end. Neither energy, nor enthusiasm was saved.

And here am I, one of the many who bought the sales pitch, a little less noble - definitely humbled by the experience. Good job USPS; I can see you have my best interest at heart.

saying i love you

Each year, I become a little less likely to buy and mail holiday presents. Not because I don't like to share or give, but because no one really needs any non-monetary item that can be wrapped in a box and mailed across the country. What can I give to you, all of my loved ones, that you don't already have too many of? Over the years, I've made gifts, bought gifts, given photographs, clothes, toys, $, food, gift certificates, travel memorabilia, household items - I can't remember - I'm sure you can't remember receiving most of it either.

Yet, I, like so many others, continue to try;  to look for that perfect gift, that perfect idea, that holiday treasure that will show you I love you the most, that you'll make room for on your mantle or kitchen counter-top, that you'll cherish forever. Sometimes, I hit it just right and succeed with the most special gift - most years, I don't. You can't win them all.

Before the gifts and cards are sent this year, I'd like to tell you, my family, my friends, I love you. You are what gets me through each year - you are the reason I write stories - you are the reason my life matters. If you ever need anything, I will give it to you. Anything I have, everything I can give - is yours should you need it. If it is not enough, I will find a way to get you what you need. You'd do it for me, too - and you have. That's what love is all about.

Until such time that you need something specific from me, I'm scaling back on the holiday hubbub. Expect handmade gifts, cookies, and food. I'll also be more than thrilled to give a donation to the charity of your choice. These are the kinds of gifts that put me in the holiday spirit and make me feel a bit closer to home.

out of the freezer

James gasped when he encountered frozen santa in the freezer this morning; I forgot that he was in there. Should be bug free by now and possibly suffering a little frostbite. Of course, if he is really Santa, he probably prefers the freezer to the humidity of Florida.

santa in the freezer

Today I was feeling a little festive, so I dug out my holiday ornaments to place around the house. We haven't had a tree in years. Come to think of it, as a couple, maybe we've never had one. Besides those little table top kind in a flowerpot with foil paper around the base. We aren't always around over the holidays, so we usually collect tree trimmings and create bows and other arrangements.

So, I'm digging through my box of ornaments from years past and I pulled out the santa doll that always had a place in our family tree when I was growing up. His feet and hands are long gone - multiple dogs and children have chewed on him throughout the years and he has been tattered and discolored for as long as I can remember. Since I've moved so many times, I have few treasures like this from my childhood, so I've never been able to throw him out.

I was shocked this year, to pull my old friend Santa out of the box and find that some of his face had been eaten off by a silverfish who happened to still be in the bag. Santa almost immediately went into the trash along with everything else in the box. But at the last minute, sentimentality won out (again). So, remembering an old conservation trick from museum studies, I stuffed Santa and all of his friends into our freezer to kill off the pests. Footless, armless, partially faceless and frozen, Santa will adorn our home at least one more season.

happy kourambiedes

I made my first Greek cookies one December, maybe five years ago, with my friend Joanna and her father, Peter. Joanna mixed the ingredients for Koulourakias as her father instructed her using his memories of her mother's recipe. We all shared the responsibility of forming the cookies, placing them on the sheets and baking them. This is a moment in my life that makes me smile. A 90-year-old Greek father, born on the tiny island of Oinousses, now living in the US so many years later, sharing traditions with his daughter.

I haven't made a Greek cookie in the five years since, until recently, when Joanna and I visited the kitchen of St. Elizabeth's Greek Orthodox Church to help make Kourambiedes for their upcoming bake sale. A Kourambiede is not a Koulourakia by any means; a Kourambiede is like an Italian wedding cookie, a dense sugar cookie with walnuts, dossed in powdered sugar. A Koulourakia is similar but does not have a powdered sugar coating -instead it is glazed with egg yolk and then sprinkled with sesame seeds. Mmmmmm!

Joanna and I were there to help roll the dough into cookies. We joined Carol and Jennifer who are part of Philoptochos (Friends of the Poor). Philoptochos is a charitable group; proceeds from the bake sale will support the national organization as well as Gainesville charities. In the past money has gone to support local programs providing coats and blankets for families-in-need, as well as Thanksgiving and Christmas Food Baskets.

Carol and Jennifer bake year-round for the church. When they aren't baking for the holiday sale, they, and other Philoptochos members, share the responsibility of baking the Prosphoro (communion bread).Rolling many dozens of cookies was quick work when tackled by the four of us; we were so immersed in our conversations that the dough ran out well before the stories did.

modes of transportation

Yesterday morning, I drove to my friend's house to do yoga.

While this statement may not seem in any way odd - it is. I don't drive anymore; it's been six months since I sold my beloved Jeep. I can count on one hand the number of times I was behind the wheel during the month of November (actually I can count on two fingers - once I drove James' sister to Publix in her parents car and once I circled Walmart's parking lot while my friend Diane ran in to get some last minute food items for a party (another story..))

During our trip to the northeast, I didn't drive a single time. It's easier that way - James is a wonderful person, but a constant backseat driver. When we go somewhere together - he drives. So, I happily knitted my way along our journey (producing 3 scarves, one hat, 4 washcloths, and a pair of fingerless gloves during the trip.)

I don't drive in Gainesville. I primarily work from home or from the library - only a mile away. For errands, I have my backpack and my bike which has a basket. Because we live so close to campus, I have a grocery store, book store, post office, ABC store, and various restaurants and other services within a quarter mile and more options in a two mile radius. I can ride my bike, walk, get a ride with a friend or take the bus anywhere I need to go.

My friend, Joanna, with whom I do yoga 3+ times a week, lives 3.5 miles from our house. She is my farthest commute. I like the ride. I pass two elementary schools on my way - watching the kids and their families makes me happy. There are a few families who bike to school and I usually cross paths with them. One dad followed by a little mini version of him, a mom on a tandem bicycle with her little girl who never seems to know where they are going, and another mom who has a green bike and a whole gaggle of kids who wobble behind her even on rainy mornings.

Interestingly, I don't miss driving. Biking or walking or catching a ride is actually a pretty nice way to live. I get some exercise or time with friends that I wouldn't have otherwise. I also only buy as much as I can carry, which is a good way to limit spending and buying unnecessarily.

So, I drove yesterday, and it felt weird. Passing those school kids in a big, old truck rather than on my little bike, I felt a little trapped and very large and overstated. I didn't get to Joanna's house any faster and her dog barked frantically when I arrived.

I did, however, enjoy the freedom of being able to go as far as I wanted and to run as many errands as I needed at one time. Plus, I stocked up on canned tomatoes, tuna and beans, because those suckers are heavy in the bike basket.

henry's hibiscus

I planted the seeds from Henry's hibiscus shortly after we moved back from the Bahamas. We had long admired the beautiful tree-like plant filled with magenta blooms in his yard. During our last visit before leaving the island, he gave us a bagful of limes and lemons from the trees surrounding his small shack and 5 hibiscus seeds. From the moment we met them, we have been repeatedly humbled by the generosity of Henry and his family. They have so little yet they always give so much. Four summers have passed since we left the island and I planted the seeds, this year was the first that Henry's hibiscus bloomed in our yard; I can't look at it without smiling.

get your hot roasted peanuts!

Last night I dreamed I was a peanut vendor. I had a cart balanced on two wooden wheels with a hitch resting on a large rock. The peanuts were roasted & salted in their shells and piled high into a dome. I sold only one type of peanut and I did it well - making newspaper funnels to pour the nuts into for those who came to buy. I was satisfied with my job and with my performance, until a man wearing an un-tucked & rumpled, striped shirt with a seersucker, plaid jacket approached. He pointed toward the pile of peanuts with a silver, filigreed ring clad middle finger and asked for 'one bag of each.'

Even in my dreams, I'm pretty simple. As a peanut vendor, I offered one item - peanuts, in the shell, roasted and salted - there were no variations. What was this 'one bag of each' that the seersucker jacket man wanted? I looked from the peanuts to Mr. Seersucker, his gaze told me that he was unphased by my confusion. He pointed his ringed middle finger toward the peanuts again (though the ring was now a bulky, skull design like that of a pirate.) I followed his finger back to the cart and the pile was suddenly transformed -  I could see the peanuts as they were - larger, smaller, soft-shelled, hard-shelled, dark brown, golden brown, 2 nuts per shell, 3 nuts per shell, even some with only a single peanut in each shell! Suddenly, the many differences overwhelmed me.

I picked up two small, brown paper sacks and asked which he would like. Mr. Seersucker's ring finger pointed as I picked up each peanut he selected one by one placing it in one of the two bags. I was suddenly noticing the independence and individuality of each one. Feeling liberated in a way and sad in another. Here I was, a peanut vendor - yet I'd never truly seen peanuts before.

prodigal cat

She sits on the porch chair, on the living room rocking chair or the back of the couch close to the fireplace, on any available lap, on the keyboard when I type, on any book I try to read, on my stomach or hip or side while I sleep. She hides behind us on the windowsill when dogs pass, in the grasses waiting for lizards, under the table in dining room. She licks daintily her dry food in the kitchen, her wet food on the porch, rain water from the pitchers on the front steps, any food we share from the tips of fingers. Peony has returned (for a little while, anyway).

Making books

Sunday morning, while James and his sister went on a bike ride to Payne's Prairie, I volunteered at the Downtown Arts Festival in the Imagination Station. Kids and their families wandered through the area expectantly, looking for their for their favorite booths and projects. I was in charge of book making. The first hour was a little lonely for me, the kids were drawn more quickly to the pipe-cleaner & newspaper hats and watercolor painting - my booth, on first appearance, wasn't half as glamorous. Who ( besides me) would get excited by plain cardboard and white paper? So I called out a variety of invitations, "Would you like to make a book?" Didn't work. "Design your own book here!" Also, no luck. I watched as kid after kid went by, not sure what to do. Finally, I made eye contact with a little girl of about 5. "Do you want to write a story?" I asked. "Yes, please," she replied. She walked over and  sat down at my booth, ready for the instructions that would allow her story to be told. Soon, I had more kids with stories than I could handle.

Some highlighted titles of the day.

"How to make canned soup"

"How to build a building"

"True Blue: A princess story"

"What kids see when they look at big people"

"Happy rainbows"

"I love my family"

closing time

Bars in Gville close promptly at 2am. Most nights this does not have any impact on our lives. However, on Gator home game weekends (there are usually 6 per year), I am made painfully aware of how close we are to campus, the stadium, and many local bars. Tomorrow is a big game ( I think), meaning that from 2am on, there has been non-stop activity on my block. People are wandering from the bars surrounding campus to their cars parked on our street and others nearby. Tonight (or this morning, however you choose to view it) I was first awakened by drunk yelling in the street, then later, sirens, then general loud talking, then more sirens, then helicopters, more loud talking. After an hour, I have given up the idea of sleep and am, officially, awake.

Monongahela National Forest, WV "Where Rivers Begin"

more journal notes.

We are parked along Forest Road 28/11 on our way to Seneca Rocks at a little spot I like to call "Dead Animal Overlook." Here in West Virginia or at least in this part of the forest,
people have a different purpose for their overlooks. The scenery is breathtaking, some of the most gorgeous mountains we've witnessed yet - if you can look past the various napkins, roof tiles, snack wrappers, and plastic bags littering the area.

I'm no snob and I'm not unaccustomed to seeing trash on the side of the road. What gets me is the squirrel's head tossed just off the pavement a few paces from the passenger door of the truck and the large white and grey speckled wing of what may have been a turkey tucked in the grass a few feet past that. James found other portions of the turkey in a plastic bag nearby, mostly guts and possibly the missing head. He didn't open the bag for a better look and I, safely back in the passenger seat, refuse to get out again.

leaf peeper

I stood on a boulder in Vermont after climbing up and down rock after rock to reach the largest one resting in the exact center of the West River. Alone, I watched the water rush on either side of me and I couldn't help but feel the awe caused by sunset in autumn as it raked at severe angles -first across the water, then across the bank, until when perpendicular with the trees, shadows blanketed the lowlands while brilliant sunlight intensified the reds, oranges, yellows and greens of October above the line of the setting sun.

"I'm a peeper," I whispered to myself, and was suddenly reminded of my friend, who loves to do things en masse. The census thrills her (because everybody does it), as do voting day and tax day. On April 15, no matter when she has completed them, she journeys to the post office to deliver her report personally. She waits in line and buys the correct postage. Last year, she anticipated the day for weeks, putting off the responsibility of mailing until the last moment, simply because she wanted the excitement of being there with everyone else. I could hear the disappointment in her voice when she returned to inform me that there wasn't much of a crowd that day.

Unlike my friend, I'm not into mass gatherings and tend to avoid most things with large crowds. But there I was, in Vermont, leaf peeping, like 100s of 1000s of others who wait with anticipation for the colors that life has to offer, and who value the experience so greatly that they are willing to book hotel rooms two years in advance.

I breathed in, surprised by this revelation. "I'm like all of the other peepers." I said, this time my voice a little louder. I looked around from my perch on the giant boulder and breathed out again. "Yet, I'm the only one here."

dashboard diaroma - beginning to recount our journey to the northeast usa

Sharing journal notes- Early October in Massachusetts

Today bought 2 apples, 3 garlic cloves and 1 small pumpkin with a lovely twisted vine still attached. Placed them all on the dashboard so that I can see them no matter our location during this journey. Not sure which makes me happier - autumn through my windshield or harvest on my dash.

Days later in Vermont


The dashboard diorama is having trouble holding it together on these forest roads. It doesn't help that there is little room to spare. Now, quartz, 4 wild green apples, an assortment of rocks and acorns, birch bark and 2 pumpkins inhabit the small space, joining the green snake toy who is a permanent resident. James is off wandering in the rain, while I sit knitting - happily....

Following Amish boys on bicycles in Pennsylvania

camping in the catskills

We spent the past few nights camping in various spots throughout the Catskill Mountains in New York. Absolutely lovely. Halfway through a 5 mile hike to a 3200 ft summit two days ago, we encountered our first freezing rain/ sleet of the season. We turned around and to head back to camp before it got worse. The sleet turned to rain and it didn't stop until late in the evening. At some point the rain turned to snow, so the next morning we awoke to flurries and the mountain was covered in white. Unbelievable to see.

Today, has again turned from snow to rain. Tonight promises snow only. What an adventure! My body temperature is way out of whack. Inside I'm sweating due to the all of my clothing layers and the extreme heat of the buildings - outside I'm actually getting used the cold ( a little, maybe.)

drying out

After camping in Massachusetts and Vermont for the past week, we have come to New York to house sit for an artist friend and to regroup. The leaves have been lovely, as has been camping; however, it has been raining nearly every day for some small or large amount of time. This would be okay, except the truck topper is a bit leaky. Our nice comfy sleeping setup has been a bit on the musty side. No real complaining here though, because we have been more than happy and dry enough.

We keep wondering when our last autumn was and we, honestly, can't remember. So, we peep joyfully at leaves and 'oooh' and 'aaah' at the various vistas on our journey. We breathe the fresh, cold fall air and stop at every farm stand and pumpkin field we pass. The truck is filling with evidence of our journey - apples, pumpkins, garlic, acorns, leaves, pine cones, granite, and more - we love them all and squeal with delight at the things that make us happiest - beaver dams, bears eating berries (in the distance), goats, sheep, a moose, nice people, maple syrup, rivers, streams, mountains, deer, chipmunks, honey, jellies, jams.

Sometimes we get tired on the road - when it is hard to find a place to stop for the night or when we wait too long to eat or we get a flat tire, but those are all minor complications and are eventually resolved.

We are satisfied with our journeying and wonder at how few people we see exploring autumn.

Lots of picture taking, but posting won't happen til later.

Postcards from FLA

Hopkins Prairie in Ocala National Forest

Anastasia Island Dunes

On the run in St. Augustine

From Florida with Love.....

A tisket a tasket a tree in a basket

The giant basket arrived by plane with its creator, William Colebrooke (Scrap Iron), and Rasta sculptor, Henry Wallace, in February of 2005. Magnificent though it was (the largest palm frond basket ever sewn on Andros Island) it had trouble written all over it. Customs allowed it to pass from the Bahamas into Florida - apparently the termite damage in the bottom of the basket went unnoticed due to the large number of other crafts, shells and trinkets crammed inside.

The basket traveled up through Florida in a van and arrived at our house in Gainesville with our shivering island friends. Too large for Grinter Gallery, the venue for exhibit, the basket sat in the building's entry and excited many passers-by because of its size. Countless photos were taken of students, faculty and other visitors standing in or around the enormous work of art.

When the exhibit wrapped up in mid-2005, the basket went to live in Micanopy with the co-curator. There it stayed in a small sun room gathering dust for two years, waiting to be sold or for the van to take it on a journey back to the island. In 2007, the co-curator moved and responsibility was passed back to me, the basket was transported to our garage where spiders and cockroaches immediately took up residence. I contacted Scrap Iron who stated emphatically that he never wanted to see the basket on Andros again; it made it off island and its destiny was now to live a different life.

I attempted to find a collector who would love the unique piece, and when that didn't work, a museum that might exhibit it (permanently) and when that didn't work, I offered it to UF for display in various public areas. In the interim it sat. We moved to New Orleans and it continued sitting.   

We returned to Florida and were again faced with the conundrum, "What do we do with the giant basket  in our garage?" Inspired by the work of Steve Siegel, the artist I exhibited for my thesis in 2003, we decided that the work should return to nature and made plans to move it to Luna Oak Grove (LOG), James' property on the Sante Fe River.

We learned of Scrap Iron's death a few days before our next planned trip to the river and thought it appropriate that the basket be placed in his memory. So, on Monday, we drove to High Springs in the rain, and arrived to sunshine and high humidity. James rolled the basket 1/4 mile down a path to the spot we selected, gathering chiggers all the way (17 in all - he is very itchy today). I trailed behind carrying a young sycamore in a bucket, a machete, a serrated knife, and a shovel. While James cleared the area, I cut a plate-sized hole in the bottom of the basket. Together we dug a hole into the earth, placed the basket over said hole, and planted the sapling that we brought from New Orleans. A little gecko kept me company as I squatted low in the basket filling the hole and tamping down the dirt.

Afterward, we sat on the bank of the river watching the sunset and James asked me if I said any words to Scrap Iron while creating his memorial. I answered yes, but that I'd said them quietly because it was just between me and him. "Did you?" I asked. "I was just thinking of him throughout, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately." With that, the stories began, one after another, we each took turns, laughing, talking, remembering, honoring a person very dear to our hearts.