Potluck City Photo MadLib

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Create my own fun, time-consuming photo madlib?  Yes, ma’am!

Back in 2011, I attended _A__ potlucks and hosted _B__.

New to hosting successful potlucks, my partner and I enjoyed fresh opportunities to _C__. Also, we learned that a host must be _D__!

Now when friends start a’calling, I whip up a batch of _E__, hop on my trusty _F__ and speed _G__.

Never before in my life have community meals been so _H__. I feel very _I__!

A

Picnic in (fake) b&w

Bitson Jean draws a portrait

Gift circle feet

B

Dishes

Sun commands the room

C

Zuc bread

D

Dave waits for the crowd

E

Orange muffins

F

Bike valet

G

Mass. Ave. Bridge

H

dinner is over

I

Seed Catalog Potluck Brunch

Full Spectrum City Cycling

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Brookline Bike Parade

Majority of my city bike-commuting experiences are positive –interesting, funny, beautiful, and so on. For example, the time when a MBTA bus pulled next to me on Mass. Ave., opened the passenger door and the driver called, “Do you want to race?”

Or the time when a tractor-trailer stopped beside me at a light and the driver honked the horn, pointed to my rainbow legwarmers, and gave me a thumbs-up.

Or spotting tiny frogs on the path while heading up Olmstead along the J-way on a wet, rainy night.

Or the time when a 70-something woman passed in front of me on a crosswalk and exclaimed, “You’re awfully cute!”

And then there are the bike-commuting experiences that can best be encapsulated by the phrase: oh MY (insert favorite sacrilege expletive.)

Like yesterday when I witnessed two cars smash together in the bike lane on Hampshire Street in Cambridge.

Or yesterday when I passed two separate incidents of women weeping (one wearing scrubs and clogs, tucked behind a tree, another on a bench with a friend) along the Muddy River in the Back Bay Fens.

Or last week when I think I saw someone stealing from a car parked near the Riverside Whole Foods, promised myself I’d report it when I got to work, and then of course promptly forgot.

Like the aforementioned Incident Behind Jackson Square Station.

Like when there’s a full moon and everybody gets just a little bit odd –you’ll never seen more mid-road K-turns or multiple-car assorted contortions on tight side-streets, than during a full moon!

Understanding The City

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[brgr]

On a weekend trip to New York City with my Jersey family, it struck me that the reason I find the city so excruciatingly overwhelming is not that there are so many souls eeking it out in one place, it’s that each and every one of those souls is important.

I am bowled flat by the knowledge I will never know or touch 99.9% (not an exact figure) of the people in that city.  We will all live and die, never the wiser, never moved by one another’s presence on this planet.

Hefty thoughts.

And then, once my family had departed back to Jersey, I wandered a two block radius around Penn Station (which took me thirty minutes), and walked down one street (or was it an Ave?) where the buildings might as well have been the sides of a concrete canyon.  Not a tree in sight.  Not one green thing.  The only reminder of the planet, besides the humans robotically walking past, was the sky.  I looked up and it was like, Whoa!  How’d you get there? I forgot about you.

In a NYC cavern

Still, I learned a few new things on this trip:

  • Compared with the off-Broadway shows I’ve experienced, a play on Broadway has more pomp, glitter, and magic than any unicorn I’ve ever (not) seen (sorry, unicorns.)  I believe Sister Act alone is using up half the Earth’s supply of sequins.
  • Number streets are short, avenues go on forever (how had I not noticed this in all the years I’ve visited?)  Beware the avenues.
  • If you see Whole Foods store bags, there’s definitely a Whole Foods nearby, but you’ll never be able to see it unless you look real close.

Find the Whole Foods

I do not love New York City, but I admit I’m learning to appreciate.

Stitch silent

Whew!  Back to Boston.

Live for the Weekend

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It’s the title of this post, but I’ll the first to admit that I do NOT like to live for the weekend. I don’t want to sound hopelessly optimistic, simplistic, or precious, but I’d rather live for the moment; have each moment as full with the beautiful things and awful things and odd/pretty/funny/quiet etc. things as possible. I just want things to be as they ARE (except when I don’t, which is fairly often.)

Yet, there are what I’ve come to think of as seasons of my life when I’m rushing towards the weekend.  I mean, how can the work week compare to time with friends, family, free learning opportunities, fun-to-be-had?  Some seasons are about fairness and balance, and some are all about the weekends.

Mari and friend in heartBeing silly with friends at a Chat ‘n Chew ladyfriends potluck/dance party.

Trying on the mitten

Mitten messLearning to knit mittens that fit with my friend Lucy, owner of Mind’s Eye Yarns.

Sleeping orange catCat doing what he does best (besides leap on paper bags.)

Dictator elephant dictates Wild light on top of the record player (yes, I did receive it for my birthday when I was eight, or something.)

Chickens through the glass

Fresh and localFinally meeting my friend’s chickens -and a gift of fresh eggs!

Caro's hand

Apples to apples and teaDinner and games with friends.

Giving It Away

A friend introduced me to the pleasure of listening to podcasts while crafting, which I’ve found enjoyable and enlightening.  One of the podcasts I’ve been trying out recently is NPR International’s Studio 360.  I like arts.  I like culture.  All that.

In an episode on reinvention, I listened to the host, Kurt Andersen, and author/lawyer Elizabeth Wurtzel discuss how intellectual property is treated in the US, as well as the free market’s effect on art and artistic expression.  I was struck by Ms. Wurtzel’s proclamation that artists should not just give their work away.  Then the host said something to the effect of “That’s why I don’t blog.”

Whoa, I thought.  Are these two sitting on pearly pedestals, shaking their heads in wonderment at fools like me?  Out here on the internet just spewing creativity that, had I any brains, I’d withhold (or offer the bare minimum of/sneak peaks) until someone slapped down some cash?  Is this why I’m so poor?

Then I recalled something I read Alice Walker say (if I paraphrase incorrectly, the mistake is all mine): she blogs to circumvent the system, to give her writing away. Hmm. 

Which brings me to the question: is Whole Heart Local a waste of my earning power? I can tell you the pleasure it gives me to speak my mind here.  How writing is my way of giving back to those blogs I currently follow and love.  How the internet levels the playing field for me in terms of what I can access, what I can offer.  I can tell you that -in electricity fees, wear and tear on my computer/the price of developing 35mm film/my annual subscription to Flickr, yearly fees for hosting the url- it costs me to maintain this blog, which I expect to give back nothing other than perhaps increased access to the global digital community.  Maybe a lucky off-screen friendship.  Who knows?

I don’t have an answer to the claim that people who share their art and soul on the internet are giving precious away for free.

I can say that, in the most general sense, I find sharing enormously satisfying.

Gift

More On Intangible Gifts

gifts-and-needs-2011

Sorting through the plastic folder of papers I carry with me everywhere, every day, I found I’d been carrying around a list of my gifts and needs from the last gift circle gathering I’d attended in JP.

I think I’d been intending to do something with the list, though I can’t say what.  Re-reading it made me smile.  Such a departure from my original list at the first gathering, where I described a mere two needs (help washing sweaters and turning over compost!)

My scrawled notes reflect a growing trust, I think, in the process and people involved, strangers though so many of them were. This reminder of my humanity -my own vulnerable desire for connection and understanding– inspires me. Even if those needs are never met through the gift circle, there was value in letting them be known.

Quilting as a Meditation on Imperfection

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Row fiveAt some level, all of my crafting is a study on imperfection.  Yet sewing, sewing holds a special place in my heart when it comes to wanting to rip things out and throw them away.

My friends might roll their eyes to hear me tell it (again and again), but I was turned away from a sewing club in middle school because my stitches weren’t straight!  Obviously, I never got over it.  And my stitches STILL aren’t straight.

Luckily (or, more like, through a great deal of effort) I’ve learned to hold more forgiveness for myself in my adult life.  In my most recent project, and what will be the first quilt I’ve ever completed, I’m watching those crooked stitches -not one the same size as it’s neighbor- stretch across the denim like fence posts dotting a pasture.  The fence in question might be a little rickety and wandering, but it’s still a fence, right?

Stitching

An imperfect photo highlighting my imperfect stitching . . .