Workers of the world unite!
Jenny and I loved May Day, because it was a dual celebration, one for the revolution, and the other for pagans. What's not to love?
And May was always Jenny month, because she demanded a 31-day celebration of her birthday. She'd be 37 this year, and we'd be able to speculate over whether 37 indicated mid-thirties or late-thirties (or late-mid-thirties, or early-late-thirties).
May used to mean lots of dinners out, maybe a 3-day trip to Mexico, the storytelling festival, some sunny Oakland walks, composing a Fun List with our best friend Meggie, lattes and croissants at the too-crowded tables at Royal Coffee on College Avenue, planning the next big house party (Themes: Tiki? Monster trucks? Maxapalooza?), and presents of Japanese stickers, photos, books, paintings. Here's to May 27th! Cumpleanos feliz.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Milestones
Genevieve is now 7 1/2 months, and has two bottom teeth. She sits up but loses focus and slides to the side. She still has little interest in tummy time or crawling. She loves solid foods and finger foods. This week, she has tried cheese, cut-up raisins, pasta, sweet potato puffs, cheerios, and bread. She has her screeching laugh as well as her newer giggle.
I'm not one to track milestones, but I do like to remember events, and sometimes these milestones can help trigger memories. It occurs to me that adults should have milestones, too.
Last weekend was a milestone for me. I saw my play, "Crappy at Yoga", rehearsed and it was thrilling! The actresses brought so many nuances to the characters and the lines that I marveled at the complexity that I never intended!
And maybe another milestone could be timid Max's going to martial arts class. He's 4 1/2 and so shy, but he loves to "keeeee-op" and chamber-fist-chamber-fist. Yesterday, I watched him submerge himself in the water in Penguins swimming class. It's odd, this movie of life.
I'm not one to track milestones, but I do like to remember events, and sometimes these milestones can help trigger memories. It occurs to me that adults should have milestones, too.
Last weekend was a milestone for me. I saw my play, "Crappy at Yoga", rehearsed and it was thrilling! The actresses brought so many nuances to the characters and the lines that I marveled at the complexity that I never intended!
And maybe another milestone could be timid Max's going to martial arts class. He's 4 1/2 and so shy, but he loves to "keeeee-op" and chamber-fist-chamber-fist. Yesterday, I watched him submerge himself in the water in Penguins swimming class. It's odd, this movie of life.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
How An Obsession Begins
There I was, rambling the aisles of Winco, when I saw her. Not her, really, but what she was carrying. A purse.
It had a cartoon of an avocado on it. Perhaps the avocado had a face, giving it the kind of anthropomorphism that avid collectors of Japanese & Korean stationery appreciate.
I wanted to ask her about the bag, but her boyfriend hovered nearby with a kind of protectiveness that said, "Stop staring at my girlfriend." Or maybe it said, "I'm on meth."
I've been pining for a new bag, because my two-year-old Chiapas woven tote bag has been reduced to shreds (though beautiful pink, orange, and gold shreds). I almost got a green flowered bag at Foundation Garments, but it was made of recycled inner tubes and smelled it. I lingered over the African print bags at Target, but the handles weren't right.
This bag, with cartoon produce and what looked like charming lyrical writing, was the one. So, when I spotted the girl a couple aisles later in the bulk candy section (sans boyfriend), I pounced. "Your bag! I love it!" And, close enough to touch the bag, or grab it and run off, I saw a part of the writing: Oaxaca. "It's from Oaxaca!" I said.
She beamed. "My brother got it for me." She smiled. She knew she had the platonic ideal of a bag, against which all other bags would be measured and ineveitably fall short, causing me years of agony.
Later, unloading the box of 174 diapers from the car, I cursed myself. I shoulda just offered her cash for the damn bag because, even if I trek back to Oaxaca, a city I know well, finding that exact purse would be nearly impossible. Perhaps if I had noted the store the bag was advertising but there, immersed in the powerful smell of bulk Kisses, I had let the girl go.
So when I nursed baby Jenny at 11 that night, I turned to Ebay. The problem was I had no keyword for my bag. "Bag" and "purse" summoned nothing. I tried "Oaxaca" and "Mexico", paired with "cartoon avocado". Can you believe that got me no results?
I abandoned Ebay for Google but I found, that I often do when pairing too many distinct terms in a keyword search, that I had discovered yet another way to access a billion porn sites. Why oh why does "cartoon avocado" plus "Mexico" equal porn wonderland?
But then I had a memory. I'm walking with Jen at the Mercado de Abastos in Oaxaca. A booth of religious charms and milagros calls to us. And then, a couple aisles away, we spot two women sitting by a monton of blue corn tortillas. Jenny buys them, and they pull them out of a bag.
A beautiful bag. Sort of the shape of my Winco girl's bag. I search on "market bag" which leads to "tote bag" and then I remember the material--vinyl--and it all somehow guides me to Gringas & Company and this bag, so close (and yet so far?). It doesn't say Oaxaca, and the avocado has no face (but did I contrive that anyway?), but I emailed las gringas to ask if they have others, and I await their reply.
I may just have to haul my sorry self back to Oaxaca. Or at least to Winco, same day, same time.
It had a cartoon of an avocado on it. Perhaps the avocado had a face, giving it the kind of anthropomorphism that avid collectors of Japanese & Korean stationery appreciate.
I wanted to ask her about the bag, but her boyfriend hovered nearby with a kind of protectiveness that said, "Stop staring at my girlfriend." Or maybe it said, "I'm on meth."
I've been pining for a new bag, because my two-year-old Chiapas woven tote bag has been reduced to shreds (though beautiful pink, orange, and gold shreds). I almost got a green flowered bag at Foundation Garments, but it was made of recycled inner tubes and smelled it. I lingered over the African print bags at Target, but the handles weren't right.
This bag, with cartoon produce and what looked like charming lyrical writing, was the one. So, when I spotted the girl a couple aisles later in the bulk candy section (sans boyfriend), I pounced. "Your bag! I love it!" And, close enough to touch the bag, or grab it and run off, I saw a part of the writing: Oaxaca. "It's from Oaxaca!" I said.
She beamed. "My brother got it for me." She smiled. She knew she had the platonic ideal of a bag, against which all other bags would be measured and ineveitably fall short, causing me years of agony.
Later, unloading the box of 174 diapers from the car, I cursed myself. I shoulda just offered her cash for the damn bag because, even if I trek back to Oaxaca, a city I know well, finding that exact purse would be nearly impossible. Perhaps if I had noted the store the bag was advertising but there, immersed in the powerful smell of bulk Kisses, I had let the girl go.
So when I nursed baby Jenny at 11 that night, I turned to Ebay. The problem was I had no keyword for my bag. "Bag" and "purse" summoned nothing. I tried "Oaxaca" and "Mexico", paired with "cartoon avocado". Can you believe that got me no results?
I abandoned Ebay for Google but I found, that I often do when pairing too many distinct terms in a keyword search, that I had discovered yet another way to access a billion porn sites. Why oh why does "cartoon avocado" plus "Mexico" equal porn wonderland?
But then I had a memory. I'm walking with Jen at the Mercado de Abastos in Oaxaca. A booth of religious charms and milagros calls to us. And then, a couple aisles away, we spot two women sitting by a monton of blue corn tortillas. Jenny buys them, and they pull them out of a bag.
A beautiful bag. Sort of the shape of my Winco girl's bag. I search on "market bag" which leads to "tote bag" and then I remember the material--vinyl--and it all somehow guides me to Gringas & Company and this bag, so close (and yet so far?). It doesn't say Oaxaca, and the avocado has no face (but did I contrive that anyway?), but I emailed las gringas to ask if they have others, and I await their reply.
I may just have to haul my sorry self back to Oaxaca. Or at least to Winco, same day, same time.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The Road to Fame
Since I began blogging here a few months ago, I have been invited to write for another blog, assigned to write articles for a fashion magazine (about art, thankfully, and not fashion), and, now, I have had a ten-minute play based on this blog chosen to be produced as part of "Thicker Than Water", a festival of plays exploring the dark side of Mother's Day.
My "Crappy at Yoga" piece about mommy and me yoga (and grief) inspired the play. And even though this isn't the big time, it feels big for me. I remember how Jenny never wanted to get involved in theater because she couldn't deal with all the egotism and drama mamas--so she became a solo performer! Only one big ego to deal with there. I have a similar feeling, that it is better to write for the stage than to be involved with the personalities onstage.
Part of me really is deeply hoping this isn't a fluke. What a brilliant life it would be to write plays and have them performed around the world. Someday, when I'm not embroiled in writing my terribly tedious thesis and changing diapers all day, I'm going to go on a playwriting and play-marketing binge, writing and sending out a ton of work.
Of course, I always think such ideas sound great when I am embroiled in some assigned, restrictive task. It's the "if only" syndrome. In Spanish, they have a verb form for it "si hubiera", the verb tense of regret.
My "Crappy at Yoga" piece about mommy and me yoga (and grief) inspired the play. And even though this isn't the big time, it feels big for me. I remember how Jenny never wanted to get involved in theater because she couldn't deal with all the egotism and drama mamas--so she became a solo performer! Only one big ego to deal with there. I have a similar feeling, that it is better to write for the stage than to be involved with the personalities onstage.
Part of me really is deeply hoping this isn't a fluke. What a brilliant life it would be to write plays and have them performed around the world. Someday, when I'm not embroiled in writing my terribly tedious thesis and changing diapers all day, I'm going to go on a playwriting and play-marketing binge, writing and sending out a ton of work.
Of course, I always think such ideas sound great when I am embroiled in some assigned, restrictive task. It's the "if only" syndrome. In Spanish, they have a verb form for it "si hubiera", the verb tense of regret.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Jenny's Fun Tips: Teaching by Gossip
Making announcements to groups of children is a futile task. The only way to circulate key information is by acting as if it's a big secret.
Jenny knew this. Although she had a voice powerful enough to shout over three playgrounds full of kids (and used it daily to yell "L-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ne up!"), she more typically would sidle over to the corner of the yard and sit for a spell. She might have a piece of origami paper with her, and casually fold it into a house for her "Fourth Pig" story.
A couple kids would gather, and then more, as Jenny circled into her story, folding paper the whole time. By the ending joke, she had an audience, and that audience was her afterschool group, who she could then casually usher into their next activity.
I used Jenny's trick often in my classroom. Rather than formally begin a tedious math lesson, I'd amble over to the angry-boy-who-cries-during-math and I'd show him the teacher's manual. "Check this out," I'd say, pointing to an illustration showing the connection between addition and subtraction. "I thought you'd like it--there's pictures of food." We'd chat about it and then, suddenly, math had begun.
Jenny knew this. Although she had a voice powerful enough to shout over three playgrounds full of kids (and used it daily to yell "L-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ne up!"), she more typically would sidle over to the corner of the yard and sit for a spell. She might have a piece of origami paper with her, and casually fold it into a house for her "Fourth Pig" story.
A couple kids would gather, and then more, as Jenny circled into her story, folding paper the whole time. By the ending joke, she had an audience, and that audience was her afterschool group, who she could then casually usher into their next activity.
I used Jenny's trick often in my classroom. Rather than formally begin a tedious math lesson, I'd amble over to the angry-boy-who-cries-during-math and I'd show him the teacher's manual. "Check this out," I'd say, pointing to an illustration showing the connection between addition and subtraction. "I thought you'd like it--there's pictures of food." We'd chat about it and then, suddenly, math had begun.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Baby Whispering--A Day Into the Madness
THE PLAN:
I've put Genevieve on the Baby Whispering plan.
THE STRUGGLES:
At first, the whole pick up/put down process for settling her to sleep in her crib took up to 40 minutes. Now, we're down to anywhere from 3-10 minutes, and that's with only a day into this.
THE TRIUMPH (MAYBE):
Gennie went from 11pm-6:30 am last night without nursing. Unfortunately, neither my husband nor I can recall for certain if she cried or screamed excessively last night, other than a shriek session from 5am-5:45am. The level of tiredness I feel would seem to indicate that I slept very little, but my sleep-deprived brain has drained me of any memory.
THE END?
The most interesting part of this process has been letting go of the constant nursing (snacking, really) and catnaps, and, instead, guiding Gennie toward deeper sleep and fuller feeding. There have been times in the past day where she was so bright and sunny that it seemed she could understand that we were working toward this together, and that she could begin to soothe herself at night.
And I felt so pleased for her indpendence, and so sad at knowing that it's the first step of many away from me, and toward herself, and who she will become. I post on a mama blog and many mamas had conflicted feelings about encouraging a 6-month-old to sleep longer and nurse less frequently. I understand their concerns, because it's saying that a baby is ready to have some autonomy. One mama on my blog said that babies are meant to be held and snuggled all the time. I'm not so sure--I love snuggling Gennie, but I also love letting her explore beyond the boundaries of my arms.
I've put Genevieve on the Baby Whispering plan.
THE STRUGGLES:
At first, the whole pick up/put down process for settling her to sleep in her crib took up to 40 minutes. Now, we're down to anywhere from 3-10 minutes, and that's with only a day into this.
THE TRIUMPH (MAYBE):
Gennie went from 11pm-6:30 am last night without nursing. Unfortunately, neither my husband nor I can recall for certain if she cried or screamed excessively last night, other than a shriek session from 5am-5:45am. The level of tiredness I feel would seem to indicate that I slept very little, but my sleep-deprived brain has drained me of any memory.
THE END?
The most interesting part of this process has been letting go of the constant nursing (snacking, really) and catnaps, and, instead, guiding Gennie toward deeper sleep and fuller feeding. There have been times in the past day where she was so bright and sunny that it seemed she could understand that we were working toward this together, and that she could begin to soothe herself at night.
And I felt so pleased for her indpendence, and so sad at knowing that it's the first step of many away from me, and toward herself, and who she will become. I post on a mama blog and many mamas had conflicted feelings about encouraging a 6-month-old to sleep longer and nurse less frequently. I understand their concerns, because it's saying that a baby is ready to have some autonomy. One mama on my blog said that babies are meant to be held and snuggled all the time. I'm not so sure--I love snuggling Gennie, but I also love letting her explore beyond the boundaries of my arms.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Baby Whispering
I stumbled upon Tracy Hogg's The Baby Whisperer and have decided to give her sleep-through-the-night method a go. My daughter, Genevieve, is nearly 6 months and still wakes at 11, 1ish, 3ish, 5ish and sometimes extra to nurse, nurse, nurse.
Today is day one of the E.A.S.Y. plan--four-hour time slots of eating, activity, sleep, and you-time (during the sleeping). It felt strange and panicky to back off on the frequency of nursing during the day, but I truly look forward to easier nights.
I'll post here a couple times in the duration of this baby-whispering experiment to let everyone know how it's progressing.
Today was mostly about observing the baby's current routines, but I did implement the pick up/put down procedure. The procedure is a real struggle but, for me, ultimately better than letting Genevieve cry it out. You basically put baby in the crib for nap or night sleep and, if she cries, pick her up and speak in a monotone. The second she stops crying, back to the crib she goes. No rocking, singing, or coaxing to sleep. If she cries again, up again, then back down.
The book says that the record for repeated pick up and put back downs is 150 over the course of a couple hours...dios mio.
Today is day one of the E.A.S.Y. plan--four-hour time slots of eating, activity, sleep, and you-time (during the sleeping). It felt strange and panicky to back off on the frequency of nursing during the day, but I truly look forward to easier nights.
I'll post here a couple times in the duration of this baby-whispering experiment to let everyone know how it's progressing.
Today was mostly about observing the baby's current routines, but I did implement the pick up/put down procedure. The procedure is a real struggle but, for me, ultimately better than letting Genevieve cry it out. You basically put baby in the crib for nap or night sleep and, if she cries, pick her up and speak in a monotone. The second she stops crying, back to the crib she goes. No rocking, singing, or coaxing to sleep. If she cries again, up again, then back down.
The book says that the record for repeated pick up and put back downs is 150 over the course of a couple hours...dios mio.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Two Years
Today is a good day to...
- take a walk
- eat a corn cake
- jump off a bus to buy paper flowers
- read a poem
- hablar espanol
- fight the good fight
- tell a joke
- look at the moon
- sing an old-timey song
- wear pajamas
- laugh loudly
- blow kisses to the four corners of the universe
Thursday, February 02, 2006
A Few of My Favorite Things
The two-year anniversary of the death of my sister, Jenny Makofsky, fast approaches. In honor of her delighted obsession with listing favorite things, I thought I would list some of mine.
That really big harvest moon
Cartoony low brow art in bright colors (and cheap!)
When the bed is made
Wearing black
Walking in city neighborhoods and reading the flyers
Eating interesting food
Sleeping long and late
Singing sad songs loudly
The sense that a book or a movie or a play is going to be really good
Strange happenings in everyday life
Roadside shrines
That really big harvest moon
Cartoony low brow art in bright colors (and cheap!)
When the bed is made
Wearing black
Walking in city neighborhoods and reading the flyers
Eating interesting food
Sleeping long and late
Singing sad songs loudly
The sense that a book or a movie or a play is going to be really good
Strange happenings in everyday life
Roadside shrines
Groundhog Day
Happy Groundhog Day!
This is Jenny's favorite holiday. Mine was always Arbor Day, and I no longer have any idea when it is.
This is Jenny's favorite holiday. Mine was always Arbor Day, and I no longer have any idea when it is.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Sunrise, Sunset
A recent letter from Dr. Eileen reminded me of a strange happenstance.
It was December. Suddenly, a SUNSET magazine appeared in the mailbox, with Jenny's name on the address label. She came to Steve & I: "Is this some sort of joke?" None of us could figure out who would gift Jen a subscription to the magazine we grew up mocking, the magazine of our Nana who "archived" them in the bathroom, the pages forever wrinkling.
And then you know what starts to happen...you begin reading the damn magazine. It's like VIA or the electric company newsletter--if it happens to be sitting around when you're sitting around, you'll read it.
In August, 6 months after Jen was gone, an issue arrived with an article talking about Portland's up-and-coming art scene in the Pearl District. I was caught afire! I brought the magazine to the Lucky Lounge with me where I was meeting Meg.
How low had I stooped, bringing the magazine I once mocked to a bar? I showed the article to Meg and she said, "Maybe we should move to Portland."
So, we did. Right before leaving Oakland, I got a call one night: "Is Jenny Makofsky there?"
A chill ran through me. Who didn't know Jen had died? I said, "Sorry, do you know her?"
"It's Emily from Sunset Magazine. I wanted to know if she wished to renew her subscription."
"Oh, I'm sorry, she passed away."
"Oh! Oh no! I am so sorry for your loss."
I was so caught up in the condolences, it didn't occur to me to ask Emily how we had gotten the subscription in the first place.
It was December. Suddenly, a SUNSET magazine appeared in the mailbox, with Jenny's name on the address label. She came to Steve & I: "Is this some sort of joke?" None of us could figure out who would gift Jen a subscription to the magazine we grew up mocking, the magazine of our Nana who "archived" them in the bathroom, the pages forever wrinkling.
And then you know what starts to happen...you begin reading the damn magazine. It's like VIA or the electric company newsletter--if it happens to be sitting around when you're sitting around, you'll read it.
In August, 6 months after Jen was gone, an issue arrived with an article talking about Portland's up-and-coming art scene in the Pearl District. I was caught afire! I brought the magazine to the Lucky Lounge with me where I was meeting Meg.
How low had I stooped, bringing the magazine I once mocked to a bar? I showed the article to Meg and she said, "Maybe we should move to Portland."
So, we did. Right before leaving Oakland, I got a call one night: "Is Jenny Makofsky there?"
A chill ran through me. Who didn't know Jen had died? I said, "Sorry, do you know her?"
"It's Emily from Sunset Magazine. I wanted to know if she wished to renew her subscription."
"Oh, I'm sorry, she passed away."
"Oh! Oh no! I am so sorry for your loss."
I was so caught up in the condolences, it didn't occur to me to ask Emily how we had gotten the subscription in the first place.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
The Gift
A woman who collects sounds, from the lurch of the washing machine to the rattle of trains. This character is the focus of my cousin Ben Tanzer's latest story, "The Gift". The piece is partially inspired by my sister Jenny Makofsky.
You can read the story at the web magazine The 2nd Hand. For those of you who knew Jenny, you'll see her in the details (scuffed black boots, a love for folklore).
You can read the story at the web magazine The 2nd Hand. For those of you who knew Jenny, you'll see her in the details (scuffed black boots, a love for folklore).
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Jenny's Fun Tips: Bring it and Sing it
Jenny knew that whatever can be spoken can be sung. Kids respond to the "clean up, clean up, everybody clean up" catchy tune much better than a repeated nag to clean. Jenny, of course, took singing with kids a step further, into the realm of competitive song.
The game was sing down, the maestro Jenny. Pick a theme, any theme, such as food. Then, people must randomly come up with bits of songs that contain the theme. Endlessly. Jenny managed to incorporate her favorite songs into most rounds:
The game was sing down, the maestro Jenny. Pick a theme, any theme, such as food. Then, people must randomly come up with bits of songs that contain the theme. Endlessly. Jenny managed to incorporate her favorite songs into most rounds:
- The theme to "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air"
- "I Will Survive"
- "Like a Prayer"
Sometimes, when I want to evoke Jenny, I try to make the windows rattle, singing as loud as I can: "Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone. I hear you call my name, and it feels like...home." Who knew Madonna was so deep?
Monday, December 05, 2005
A Tightwad Shops Local
Shopping local in California can typically mean buying from the neighborhood strip mall. In Portland, though, shopping from locally-owned boutiques is a badge of honor.
I prefer not shopping at all, yet I am intrigued by all the start-ups on Alberta Street, my neighborhood thoroughfare. I peek inside the shops on a weekly basis, but am challenged by the $140 sweaters and $20 wind-up toys. It's tough for a tightwad to change her ways but, if I'm planning to buy a gift or a necessity, I'd rather skip Target and walk to my local boutique.
So, this holiday season, I'm slowly devising strategies for shopping local:
1. Buy less--holiday gifts can be fewer and simpler, but from my neighborhood store. I got sweet photo albums at Collage (1639 Alberta) for $5-$8.
2. Buy gifts at the grocery store--in this case, the Mexican grocery. La Sirenita market, next to the taqueria at 28th and Alberta, has good deals on Saint candles, way funkier and cheaper than some pseudo-schmancy tea light lantern at Pier One and the like.
3. Think tiny--my son adores collections of miniscule treasures, like the homies from La Sirenita's gumball machine, the beads & trinkets from Picasso's bead shop (30th and Alberta), and the stretchy reptiles at Grasshopper (18th and Alberta).
4. Try art--this is wild, but small works of art are actually some of the better deals out there. The gallery at 3oth has fused-glass bugs for $15 and Onda (2215 Alberta) has alebrije ornaments for $20.
5. Aim for maximum style with minimal items--one "Anarchy in the Pre-K" shirt from Wild Child (at 14th, see the website at http://www.wildchildpdx.com/Index.html) says more than that outfit from Baby Gap.
I prefer not shopping at all, yet I am intrigued by all the start-ups on Alberta Street, my neighborhood thoroughfare. I peek inside the shops on a weekly basis, but am challenged by the $140 sweaters and $20 wind-up toys. It's tough for a tightwad to change her ways but, if I'm planning to buy a gift or a necessity, I'd rather skip Target and walk to my local boutique.
So, this holiday season, I'm slowly devising strategies for shopping local:
1. Buy less--holiday gifts can be fewer and simpler, but from my neighborhood store. I got sweet photo albums at Collage (1639 Alberta) for $5-$8.
2. Buy gifts at the grocery store--in this case, the Mexican grocery. La Sirenita market, next to the taqueria at 28th and Alberta, has good deals on Saint candles, way funkier and cheaper than some pseudo-schmancy tea light lantern at Pier One and the like.
3. Think tiny--my son adores collections of miniscule treasures, like the homies from La Sirenita's gumball machine, the beads & trinkets from Picasso's bead shop (30th and Alberta), and the stretchy reptiles at Grasshopper (18th and Alberta).
4. Try art--this is wild, but small works of art are actually some of the better deals out there. The gallery at 3oth has fused-glass bugs for $15 and Onda (2215 Alberta) has alebrije ornaments for $20.
5. Aim for maximum style with minimal items--one "Anarchy in the Pre-K" shirt from Wild Child (at 14th, see the website at http://www.wildchildpdx.com/Index.html) says more than that outfit from Baby Gap.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The Snowy Day
The Snowy Day--it's the title of a sweet children's book by Ezra Jack Keats, and it describes Portland today, at least from the perspective of an ex-Californian. I was walking back after seeing the mommy matinee, "The Corpse Bride", at the hallowed Kennedy School (http://www.mcmenamins.com/index.php?loc=57&id=82). Suddenly, the rain seemed soft, like it had texture. A nuclear fallout? Microscopic pod people? Just the weather...snow so mild that you question it as you walk through it.
The flurry compelled me to return to a Portland mommy obsession: how do you take new babies out in the rain and cold? During this bitter snowstorm, Jenny was in a bjorn and covered with a thick quilt, underneath an umbrella. I know it screamed Californian to bundle ourselves so, but I couldn't see myself prancing around in a t-shirt and jeans shorts like my neighbor was. I mean, it's in the 30s! That's cold, right?
I've been conducting a qualitative study on baby rain gear. My sightings include: snowsuits, velour outfits, a plastic tent over the stroller, a mini-umbrella attached to a baby backpack, and, yes, shorts. I've also been doing online research on this topic. I've found what seems to be called a bunting, but I cannot figure out how it's different from a blanket or footie pajamas. I saw a gorgeous thing called a Bundle Me that comes in urban styling (this seems to translate to "more expensive"), in the color wasabi. It's lovely, and it's $65. I am an anti-consumer for the most part, but I'm also an avid walker, so I was slightly tempted. Then, I decided it was the word wasabi that captured my imagination more than anything. So the thick quilt will have to suffice to get Jenny and I through the winter.
In Keats' "The Snowy Day", the main character is a little boy named Peter. He spends his snowy day playing and then comes back home and puts on his jammies. The pjs are beautiful in the book, kind of a '60s paisley. Wouldn't it be great if I could just put Jenny in some flannel pjs with a retro design and be done with it?
The flurry compelled me to return to a Portland mommy obsession: how do you take new babies out in the rain and cold? During this bitter snowstorm, Jenny was in a bjorn and covered with a thick quilt, underneath an umbrella. I know it screamed Californian to bundle ourselves so, but I couldn't see myself prancing around in a t-shirt and jeans shorts like my neighbor was. I mean, it's in the 30s! That's cold, right?
I've been conducting a qualitative study on baby rain gear. My sightings include: snowsuits, velour outfits, a plastic tent over the stroller, a mini-umbrella attached to a baby backpack, and, yes, shorts. I've also been doing online research on this topic. I've found what seems to be called a bunting, but I cannot figure out how it's different from a blanket or footie pajamas. I saw a gorgeous thing called a Bundle Me that comes in urban styling (this seems to translate to "more expensive"), in the color wasabi. It's lovely, and it's $65. I am an anti-consumer for the most part, but I'm also an avid walker, so I was slightly tempted. Then, I decided it was the word wasabi that captured my imagination more than anything. So the thick quilt will have to suffice to get Jenny and I through the winter.
In Keats' "The Snowy Day", the main character is a little boy named Peter. He spends his snowy day playing and then comes back home and puts on his jammies. The pjs are beautiful in the book, kind of a '60s paisley. Wouldn't it be great if I could just put Jenny in some flannel pjs with a retro design and be done with it?
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Crappy at Yoga
I've been doing yoga since 1985. That's 20 years, and I never get better. I'm the one who everyone gets to know all-too-quickly, as in "Serena, shift your torso to be in line with your hips" and "Serena, straighten your leg" and "Serena, don't rest on your hands, lift from your fingertips". Last year the hatha teacher kept me after class. She had me planking and cobraing and down-dogging repeatedly, and she emanated annoyed disbelief at my refusal to demonstrate progress. I said, "It's not your fault. I've been doing yoga badly since the '80s." She didn't believe me. I'm sure she thought she could be the one to finally straighten me out. It didn't happen. I just got flagged a yoga failure again today.
I went to Yoga Shala (http://www.yogashalapdx.com/) on Alberta Street. I've been doing the mama and baby yoga class and I'm happy to report that my baby has also been flunking yoga. She gets carried by the teacher's assitant "baby carrier" for much of the class in an attempt to quell her screams. Do you know of this phenomenon? I wonder if it's just a Portland thing. Someone offers to cart your baby around the room while you try to do some yoga badly. It's a great thing.
Today was liberating because Steve agreed to watch Genevieve while I went to a baby-free yoga class. This was my first time truly away from her since she was born, and I was very excited. The class was lovely, with some other people not-so-good at yoga.
I was elated to be there. And there was a moment where a memory of my sister Jenny came back to me. I had convinced her to try yoga with me. We would go together. She never wanted to take off her socks, but then she would slide all around. Here I was at Yoga Shala, almost two years later, doing warrior two, and I could see her in her thick hiking socks. I thought, my outstretched hand is touching yours right now, Jenny. The Pacific Ocean has your ashes, but you're everywhere, you're in the atmosphere, the water cycle, the breeze. Your essence is there, however dispersed.
I felt a hand on mine. For a nanosecond, it was too real. Jenny was gripping my fingers of the hand I had stretched behind me. I turned. It was the teacher, adjusting me. I'm just crappy at yoga.
I went to Yoga Shala (http://www.yogashalapdx.com/) on Alberta Street. I've been doing the mama and baby yoga class and I'm happy to report that my baby has also been flunking yoga. She gets carried by the teacher's assitant "baby carrier" for much of the class in an attempt to quell her screams. Do you know of this phenomenon? I wonder if it's just a Portland thing. Someone offers to cart your baby around the room while you try to do some yoga badly. It's a great thing.
Today was liberating because Steve agreed to watch Genevieve while I went to a baby-free yoga class. This was my first time truly away from her since she was born, and I was very excited. The class was lovely, with some other people not-so-good at yoga.
I was elated to be there. And there was a moment where a memory of my sister Jenny came back to me. I had convinced her to try yoga with me. We would go together. She never wanted to take off her socks, but then she would slide all around. Here I was at Yoga Shala, almost two years later, doing warrior two, and I could see her in her thick hiking socks. I thought, my outstretched hand is touching yours right now, Jenny. The Pacific Ocean has your ashes, but you're everywhere, you're in the atmosphere, the water cycle, the breeze. Your essence is there, however dispersed.
I felt a hand on mine. For a nanosecond, it was too real. Jenny was gripping my fingers of the hand I had stretched behind me. I turned. It was the teacher, adjusting me. I'm just crappy at yoga.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Jenny's Fun Tips: Knife-handling
My sister Jenny was a creative, caring, and absurdly funny teacher. She ran an afterschool program at Seven Hills School. I've collected some of her techniques and activities and will publish a series of them here.
One day Jenny was chopping an enormous hunk of cheddar cheese for snack time. As she sliced away, she mis-aimed and cut her finger. In her anger at the pain searing through her finger, she threw the knife across the kitchen. Upon reflection, she realized that throwing the knife did not solve the problem and, in fact, had the potential of creating larger problems. Fortunately, none of her students were in the room at the time.
Note: This story contains a tip-within-a-tip. The first tip: Don't throw knives. The second tip: When working with children, it is better to employ the phrase "chopping an enormous hunk of cheddar cheese" rather than the phrase "cutting the cheese".
One day Jenny was chopping an enormous hunk of cheddar cheese for snack time. As she sliced away, she mis-aimed and cut her finger. In her anger at the pain searing through her finger, she threw the knife across the kitchen. Upon reflection, she realized that throwing the knife did not solve the problem and, in fact, had the potential of creating larger problems. Fortunately, none of her students were in the room at the time.
Note: This story contains a tip-within-a-tip. The first tip: Don't throw knives. The second tip: When working with children, it is better to employ the phrase "chopping an enormous hunk of cheddar cheese" rather than the phrase "cutting the cheese".
Sunday, November 20, 2005
In Search of Multicultural Portland: Alberta Park
We went to the Portland Children's Museum a little while back and were invited to watch the free puppet show. It was a surf-style version of a fairytale and featured many repetitive, lengthy songs. The whole thing went on so long...
I scanned the audience--the room was packed--and saw a theater full of white faces. Every single face was white. People had told me about this Portland phenomenon, but to see it firsthand is surprising, especially because I have spent the last 20 years of my life in Oakland. It worried me because I am raising two children here, and I am determined that they will see diverse races and hear diverse languages in their daily lives. So, I am seeking Portland diversity for myself and my family, and will report on my findings.
The other day, I was happy to hang out at the neighborhood park--Alberta Park--with my son Max. Although he spent half the time at the top of the twisty slide, refusing to come down because of all the off-leash dogs, the other half of the time he spent playing with two girls who were African-American. It turned out that their mom is a jazz singer and performs at the Candlelight Lounge (7334 NE Glisan) every week.
Maybe someday, when I'm not nursing every three hours, I will be able to explore Portland's night life rather than just its day life. I have dreams of the Candlelight Lounge, VooDoo Donut (at http://www.voodoodoughnut.com/), happy hour at Pambiche (http://www.pambiche.com/), joining the Spanish group at that cafe on Alberta Street, crashing the Portland Artist Trading Card meetup [ATCs are my favorite tiny art obsession; find out about them at http://www.artist-trading-cards.ch/), and going to some lowbrow art openings.
I scanned the audience--the room was packed--and saw a theater full of white faces. Every single face was white. People had told me about this Portland phenomenon, but to see it firsthand is surprising, especially because I have spent the last 20 years of my life in Oakland. It worried me because I am raising two children here, and I am determined that they will see diverse races and hear diverse languages in their daily lives. So, I am seeking Portland diversity for myself and my family, and will report on my findings.
The other day, I was happy to hang out at the neighborhood park--Alberta Park--with my son Max. Although he spent half the time at the top of the twisty slide, refusing to come down because of all the off-leash dogs, the other half of the time he spent playing with two girls who were African-American. It turned out that their mom is a jazz singer and performs at the Candlelight Lounge (7334 NE Glisan) every week.
Maybe someday, when I'm not nursing every three hours, I will be able to explore Portland's night life rather than just its day life. I have dreams of the Candlelight Lounge, VooDoo Donut (at http://www.voodoodoughnut.com/), happy hour at Pambiche (http://www.pambiche.com/), joining the Spanish group at that cafe on Alberta Street, crashing the Portland Artist Trading Card meetup [ATCs are my favorite tiny art obsession; find out about them at http://www.artist-trading-cards.ch/), and going to some lowbrow art openings.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Another Mama-blog-a-rama
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Welcome to the bloggy version "Have You Seen the Dog Lately?", my old pop culture, lowbrow zine. A lot has changed since those heady zine days--I lost my sister and co-editor, Jenny Makofsky on February 17, 2004.
And now there is a new Jenny in my life. My daughter, Genevieve "Jenny" Rosa Lafler, was born September 1st. She has my sister's crooked smile and sunshiney aspect.
I'm hoping that she'll bring Jenny back to me in surprising ways, surfacing some old memories. I already like the excuse of saying Jenny's name again, several times a day, the way I used to, and having it hold echoes of the past as well as possibilities of the future. I whisper secrets to my baby about people and places, and show her the moon and stars because my sister loved gossip and a nocturnal existence. She always said she got a burst of energy at around 10 or 11 at night. Funnily enough (and sadly, sadly enough), baby Genevieve also gets a burst of energy at around this time, just as my husband Steve and I surrender our books and try to turn out the lights. Let's just hope that tonight will be different, that Genevieve won't wake up 7 times to nurse and then retire to her crib for a bout of furious throat clearing, gasping, farting and clicking.
Now that I've introduced everyone else, I'll tell you about me: I'm Serena Makofsky. I live in Portland, Oregon, in what some people (maybe mostly realtors?) are calling the Alberta Arts District. I moved here 5 months ago, a California cliche, migrating from my beloved home in Oakland, California. I have a son, Max, who is four, and a baby girl, Genevieve, who is 2 1/2 months old. My husband Steve is a cartoonist ("Dog Boy" and "BugHouse") with a blog of his own called Self Employment for Bohemians. See it at http://www.bohoworker.blogspot.com .
I look forward to sharing more with you soon.
xoxoxo
Serena
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