To sum up...

This is what I have been up to lately...

Hiked. Ate a lot of chocolate rabbits and malted milk bird eggs. Clarified the meaning of Easter for my youngest, who thought we were celebrating the Easter Bunny's birthday. Gathered tax information. Organized the itinerary and booked hotels for our mini-spring break get-away. Saw "Robots" and fell asleep in the movie theater. Celebrated my birthday at Chevy's with the family. Drank a really big margarita and wore a Mexican sombrero home. Illustrated until 1 in the morning. Worked today from 7:30am until 7:30pm with out many breaks. Ate too much left-over potato salad. Went to Step class to work it off. Well, that's it in a nutshell. I'm out of here on spring vacation!


Snaps from Saturday's hike up Mission Peak. The whole family went this weekend, including our very good friends and their kids. They came on over for Easter brunch on Sunday and we ended up eating way more than we should have, including the killer carmel apple pie from Costco that should be outlawed because it contains way too many calories!

Sleep is so underated

Today is the first day of spring break and the kids are off from school. Even though technically, it is still a work day for me, I allowed myself to sleep-in. It felt great. I woke up refreshed, and happy. I had interesting and entertaining dreams that I remembered with bemusement after waking up. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. The design I was working on last night, looks better than ever! I feel ready to take on the world again. Even my hair is having a good day as a result of extra sleep!

Sleep has been a missing commodity in my life for a while. Not only do I rise early during the week for school and work, but the once sacred weekend sleep-in days, have been traded in for running kids to swim meets, early morning baseball games and of course, for me to climb Mission Peak. I remember when I was a teenager, I used to sleep late every weekend. I was never an early riser or for that matter a morning person. I would lounge around in bed and enjoy the luxury of soft pillows and comforters and the knowlege that I had nothing urgent or very pressing to accomplish, other than a term paper to write or an algebra problem to solve. These days, I think I am making up for all the hours that I frittered away in my great big four poster bed sleeping until noon. Payback time is here!

So, anyway today, for the first time in weeks, I didn't have to get up at "o-dark thirty" to shepherd the kids off to school. I told every one last night, no one was to wake me up, for any reason, what-so-ever. I had to make this announcement, because last Saturday, Kyle woke me up very early with his urgent "mom!, Mom!, MOM!!!!! I thought he might be sick and throwing up in the bathroom, that... or being abducted by aliens. After leaping out of bed and running to assist him in his moment of need, I realized he only had another question for me. It turned out, he simply wanted to know why, if the earth is round, how come the sidewalks are straight and don't bend. Not wanting to run the risk of playing trivial pursuit at 6am, I made sure that everyone knew that I was sleeping in. This worked to some extent. I did manage to sleep-in, but didn't quite accomplish my goal of sleeping in undisturbed until 10am! A pure fantasy, it turns out when you have children. Instead, despite my polite requests not to distrub mommy in the morning, I was woken up at 7:30 am, to be asked where the Pillsbury Dipping strips were. Yesterday at the grocery store, Kyle, my avid TV commercial watcher, jumped up and down in the frozen aisle when he spotted the Dipping Strips. Mom! We got to try 'em...I saw 'em on TV...they have to be gooood! In a weak moment, because I was, really tired, I caved in and bought the Dipping Strips, which turn out in reality to be, frozen waffles, cut into strips and sold with prepackaged syrup. Nothing, too spectacular that we couldn't already recreate at home. But, novelty is Kyle's operating word and it was all he talked about last night and needless to say, he couldn't wait for breakfast. That should have been my clue. The signs were big as day! I should have known that my sleeping-in plan would be foiled by the Pillsbury dough boy! But, apparently, I was just too tired to notice!

Plate art

In Tiger Scouts last month, the kids made family emblems. We asked the boys to draw pictures of things that reminded them of their families and home. We later shipped their designs off to a company that transfers the designs onto plastic plates. Kyle drew a picture of our house. He took special care to get all the details just right. He even proudly told me, that he included me in his picture. If you look closely at the front window, you can see mommy working at my computer! I am hoping that the fact that he associates, me, home and computing all together, is a good thing!!!

Goddess of multi-tasking

Do you ever wish that you had more than two hands? Well, I do! Constantly!

An Evening out with the girls

Last night I went out with four of my Italian girlfriends to celebrate my birthday. Usually our group is quite large, consisting of about fifteen native Italian woman...and me, the only American. When we go out, only Italian is spoken. I was initially invited to join the group, upon the request of my friend Roberta. After having assessed my Italian language skills, I guess she decided that I wouldn't be completely overwhelmed by the fast paced conversation that runs the gambit from children and daily pet peeves to finding the best airline fare back to Italy for the holidays. We all began meeting about two years ago to celebrate La festa della Donna. In Italy, women's day is celebrated on March 8th and women are given yellow mimosa flowers and are encouraged to go out and have a good time. The day commemorates the 1908 tragedy in New York, in which factory workers, the majority of which were Italian imigrants, died in a factory fire, due to the fact that the doors had been barracaded by the owner, because the woman were striking due to poor working conditions.

After our initial outing, this group of ladies had such a good time together we decided to make it a monthly event to celebrate whos-ever birthday it might be. It is a great excuse to socialize, get away from the kids for a brief moment and recharge our batteries. Normally our group enters a restaurant and overwhelms it. This month, however, due to spring break, travel plans and previous engagements our group was very small. Because of this, I chose a smaller more intimate restaurant in Fremont for our dinner out. Pearl's Cafe from the outside doesn't appear all that fancy or exciting. It is a small house that has been converted into a restaurant and is situated in a rustic part of town. Inside, however, one experiences the best dining experience that Fremont has to offer, in an eclectic and informal setting. I brought a bottle of wine from Chateau St. Jean (our favorite vineyard in Sonoma) to share, and the four of us, Roberta, Gaia, Vania and myself settled into a four-hour dinner. We feasted on salads made with pears and sweetened walnuts, ravioli stuffed with dungeonous crab, plates of scallops and polenta and bois-a-bas. For dessert we selected tiramasu, lemon creme brule with lemon, lavendar cookies on the side, butter cake with thick chocolate sauce and bananas foster. We each took turns sampling each others dinners and desserts. My dessert arrived with a candle and "happy birthday Melissa" written in chocolate around the rim of the plate.

One of the things we discussed last night, is a common concern amongst my Italian friends. As much as they try to teach their children Italian, raise them as Italians and try to stay connected to Italy, the children themselves consider themselves to be American. Their children are different from them and do not share the same heritage as they would had they been born and raised in Italy like their parents. They worry that even though their children are learning the Italian language that they are speaking it using English idioms or "Italiafying" English words when they can't remember the correct word in Italian. I cringe when I hear this, realizing that the mistakes their children are making are the very same mistakes that I sometimes make. The women themselves are assimulating to the ways of Americans and when they return to Italy they laugh with disparity that other Italians notice the American "accent" in their voices. They are mistaken for American tourists even when they are speaking their native tongue! When I hear things like this, I realize I am never going to nail the accent and I will always sound like an English person trying to speak the Italian language! Roberta worries that the Italy she relates to is the Italy that she left eight years ago, an Italy that really doesn't exist anymore...times move on and things change and it is hard to hold onto the intangible when you are miles away from the country in which you were raised.

I returned home around mid-night, elated and exhausted from the exertion of speaking and striving to understand a foreign language. I am both delighted and critical of my performance, however. On the one hand, I am amazed at myself that I can follow the thread of the conversation and add my two cents and comment upon the current topic. On the other hand, I am slightly depressed at how difficult it still is at times, to find the correct words, the correct tense, conjugate the verb and still manage to say something timely and intelligent! Sometimes the words come just fine, and other times I feel like giving myself a little slap on the forhead, when I realize that I should have said it in a different way. I am completely self-conscious and anxious to make a good impression and not make mistakes. In Italian they use the expression "fare una bella figura"...loosely translated it means "to make a good impression". I try to "fare una bella figura" and not completely embarrass myself, but that just can't be helped sometimes, and I must resign myself to it! I realize everytime I go out with this group, that speaking is a completely different animal all-together from writing, where I have a the advantage of being able to review and self correct. I listen to my friends bantering back and forth across the table and I am completely envious. While I am competent, I am still a long way away from having the language ooze out of my pores and flow with complete ease off my tongue! Still, I am grateful that my friends want me to participate. I always come away from one of our events with a new appreciation for the language and a new perspective of what it is like to be an Italian living in the United States.

Techno Friday - the good and the bad

The good news is that I have a brand-spanking new cell phone. The bad news is that the sim card from my old cell phone is not compatible with the new phone. It was necessary to spend about about forty-five minutes on the train yesterday reprogramming the new phone, and then, of course, another half hour listening to ring tones, trying to figure out which tone was best suited to my personality. Very complicated work, that required a lot of well deserved concentration. Why a new phone you ask? Well, my son's phone has lost it's ability to relay messages and for some god-forsaken reason, our phone plans are intertwined making it necessary for me to relinquish my old phone so that his could be changed over too. I let my husband deal with the entire thing, and refused to listen closely to all the complicated details...he is king of all cell phone knowledge, so I left it in his entirely capable hands. The reason my son's phone doesn't work anymore is because, as he claims, it got washed last month in the washing machine. My son blamed the whole thing on me, which I entirely disagree with, of course. I am not entirely convinced it ever really was in the washer, but if it was, had he not left the phone in his pocket, the whole alleged phone washing incident could have been avoided in the first place. I knew from the get-go something like that would happen, and last fall when he asked for his very own cell phone, I just kind of chuckled, and said "Yeah, right, like that's gonna ever happen!" But, then he started playing on the water polo team and after about a week's worth of practices I saw the light and realized that my life would be so much easier if I had a means of communicating with him about where and when to pick him up. Now that he is back swimming again on the highschool swim team, I realized, "Wow, life would be so much easier if that phone worked again!" So, here we are, the two of us playing with our new techno toys, calling each other to test out our ring tones and sending each other lame text messages...just to make sure our phones are communicating again, of course.

The good news is that I recently upgraded my headphones. The bad news is that I think I have abnormally small ears. I decided to go with a pair of miniaturized "buds", that are supposed to fit snugly into your ear. You know, the trendy, new, teeny-tiny ear technology that replaces the big ol' headphones that wrap around your head and are reminiscent of the head-gear you wore when you had braces on your teeth. However, as cool as they may be, the stupid, little "ear buds" don't stay put in MY ears. I even bought a pair that have a little hooky-thing that wraps around your ear. But, it doesn't even matter. My ears are small, small I tell you! I spent the better part of my work out trying to cram the teeny-tiny speakers into my ear canals, and every couple of minutes they would slide right back out again. Ugh! I just don't get what is up with the shape of my ears! Very frustrating. I guess it is back to my old, behind the times, headphones again.

The good news is that I finally opened a four year old file that had been corrupted. The bad news is that I spent an inordinant amount of time doing so, and pretty much ended up wasting a good two hours of my day. But, that is me...never give up in the face of a good challenge. In the infamous words of Captain Taggart..."Never give up! Never surrender" (okay who knows what movie that is from? If you know you get a gold star!) I tried a thousand things to prod the file open, I resorted to disk utilities, tried importing it, and changing it to a .jpg, a .tif, a .png and a .pdf. I used every trick up my sleeve to no avail. And then, I got lucky! I renamed it with a Freehand9 tag and Viola it opened! It worked like magic...and just when I was about to give up in dispair and cry into my pillow and cancel the rest of my day! I could just do a little dance on top of my computer at the moment! Maybe I will!

Help! I've fallen into the internet and I can't get out!

I'm doing it again. I'm being sucked into the internet and I can't get out. Yesterday I entered the black hole of the internet and was afraid I wouldn't find my way back home again. Just to prove to myself that I wasn't entirely addicted, I did take some time out to talk with my kids, while eating a reheated quische, that a dear friend had brought over for dinner the other night. She had made one for me before, but her husband ended up eating it all. She felt so bad about it, that the other night she showed up on my doorstep unexpectedly with a steaming, killer mushroom quische in hand. Thank you Devi Rao for you spontaneity and your overwhelming kindness, especially on a day when I had no time to cook! The quische and the kids didn't separate me for long from the computer, and I was right back at it again, with the pretense that I just was going to check a couple of emails. Well, you know how that goes...one email leads to another, and another, and then you just have to stop by and check in with this or that chat group...and then, oh, what the heck, let's look at some blogs... well, as long as I'm here on my blog spot, maybe I'll post a photo...that done, now, let's see what's going on in my friend's lives...okay, now let's see what's happening to random strangers...well, I might as well leave a comment on this spot, after all, I just learned how you make your very own drag queen name (you put the name of your first pet together with the name of the street where you grew up...that would make me "Whimsy Summit", which I thought was pretty hilarious!) So, I'm blogging away and then I look at the clock on the computer screen and I realize it's getting late, and I'm missing my 11:00 showing of Will and Grace...that's okay, I think, it comes on again at 11:30, always a double feature. At 11:45 I finally mangaged to disengage myself from the internet...it was tough going, but the thought of a glass of wine and seeing the last ten minutes of Will and Grace finally got me extricated from the internet...but, surprise, surprise...here I am again today. It's only been nine hours and I'm back on the internet. Every time I think I'm out, it keeps pulling me back in!

Family portrait

Here we all are, one big, happy family, sitting on the ledge of my office window....

Verbina is blooming

Well, it is starting to bloom and with a little luck (and a few less snails) the hill will soon be covered in a purple carpet of flowers. Here is a shot of our garden taken only moments ago!



Directly in the center of the picture is my rosemary bush. I use it all the time when I am making pasta dishes. Rosemary is one of my favorite herbs, and I specifically wanted it in my garden. Who knew that Rosemary would grow large and rampant in California! I have to keep trimming it back every couple of months because it wants to become a tree!



See all those pots lined up against the wall...that is my herb garden. It is dormant now, but pretty soon, half of the pots will be filled with basil plants and those remaining, with sage, thyme and Italian parsely. I can almost taste the pesto now! With spring comes inspiration. Maybe I'll start cooking again!

Business is booming!

Things are going pretty well work-wise. I just signed two new clients this afternoon who want new websites and I have been notified by three existing clients of more work on the way! Since early this morning I have been consistently working away, with hardly any breaks, on a variety of different client projects. I have been making monthly updates to web sites and finalizing a new logo and setting up layouts for business cards, powerpoint presentations, and word documents using the new logo design. I only took a moment out, I swear, to check in on La Bacheca, to chat for a few moments, before returning to press my nose to the computer screen and start updating Dreamweaver templates and selecting colors from my Pantone color guide.

It has been one of those days, in which I started working the moment my children left for school and stayed in my pajamas all the way up until twelve o'clock. I ate a Garden Burger Spicy Chicken patty on a taco with salsa for lunch (a staple lunchtime entree!), while sitting at my desk. It was kind of messy so I had to wipe down the key board a couple of times. Kind of gross. I dashed out between projects to pick up the kids from school and then was back at my desk, fielding homework questions and helping with spelling as I researched the best place to register a new domain name for a client. I am in a complete zone of work and new projects and am being fueled by Hershey kisses filled with carmel. Mmmmm...dangerously good, and dangerous in general because when I get in a focused work mode, such as I am today, I tend to forget how many I have consumed.

Finally, I am starting to clear my desk of urgent projects and can now turn to a really fun one. I have a client for whom I am creating a package design that requires an illustration, such as you find on Tuscan pottery! This is such a fun project, that I can hardly believe that I am being paid to do it. Just as much fun as creating the designs for Mindy's La Bacheca last week. What can I say, some jobs are so much more enjoyable because of the fun people you get to work with and the images are rich with beauty and potential. The design just sometimes seems to fall into place!

Casa Rossa

I just finished reading 'Casa Rossa' by Francesca Marciano. I found it to be a sad and sometimes difficult book to read. Marciano dealt with the story of three generations of women, each with a tragic and explosive secret that they try to hide. However, the pain of betrayals, and past deceptions do not stay in the past and have an emotionally cripling effect on the daughters making them suffer and make tragic choices in their own lives.

I guess my problem with the book in general, is that had the original woman not run away abandoning her child, she would not have messed her daughter up, causing her to become an unloved child and later a confused and unhappy woman. Had she the courage to confront her daughter with the truth about herself, she could have avoided the whole downward spiral of two generations of emotionally incapacitated women. I can't fathom the cruelty of emotionally abandoning a child for matters of self. So, for me, the book was hard to deal with and unenjoyable at times.

I did like the poetic ending of the book, in which the women, mother and daughter, watch as the rain beats down on the walls of Casa Rossa. As the rain cleanses the building, a design, hidden under the red paint begins to emerge. They see a "pentimento". In the language of an artist, a "pentimento" is the first sketch or preliminary painting that an artists put on a canvas. Often times an artist will change his mind and he will repaint over the initial image changing the postures of figures and altering the composition. Or, another artist might come along and paint over the original painting with his own work. Sometimes, many years later, the original sketch begins to emerge through the second coat of paint, and one can see clearly the original intent or plan of the artist. I like the metaphor, that time is like a pentimento, and eventually the truth of a past life emerges to set the story straight, allowing those effected, to be liberated of the past and able to move on with their lives. Such a positive metaphor sort of redeems the book for me. But, on the whole a depressing book. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I'm off to find a more engaging and positive read.

Wildlife in the backyard

This morning I was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping my morning brew of green tea and talking with my husband, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge bird walking along the ledge of the patio. My husband said my jaw dropped and my eyes grew big as I stared out the window at what turned out to be a wild turkey parading through our back yard. We both jumped up and ran from window to window, as it strutted it's way across the patio and around to the side yard. I ran for the camera, but of course it was still attached to my computer from my last down load and the battery had died. I had to fiddle around with it and by the time it was functioning again, the opportunity and the bird had flown away.

On another ironic note, when I went out on the patio to retrieve the box of snail bait that I had left on the porch step, I found a snail firmly attached to one side as if hugging the box for dear life. This just goes to prove that the snails are multiplying, mounting forces and are sneakily making their advancement into my flower patches. I felt momentarily sorry for the poor little slug. In books and children's illustrations they can look so cute and innocent... but, in reality they are destructive, slimy, annoying, little creatures that are not welcome in my garden and I have heartlessly resolved to eliminate as many of them as possible. Sorry little snail, but, your days are numbered.

Lunch time confessions

I have a tiny little problem. If you must know, it is that I like to shop... I like to shop a lot....okay I LOVE to shop. I am taking a moment to blog as I am making back ups of my hard drive and preference folders. My husband's computer freakishly had a melt down last week causing him to loose all his data, and making me realize that I couldn't remember the last time I archived my work. So, as I am performing the boring work of backing up, I am turning my blog into a lunch time confessional.

I admit it. I like to shop for trendy and pretty clothes and shoes. However, my saving grace is that, as much as I like to shop, I am an avid fiend for a bargain. I will never purchase a stitch at department stores like Macey's, or Nieman Marcus or glitzy, pricey boutiques where cotton skirts are marked up about 500%. No. I am a true lover of discount and the thrill that comes with purchasing something that I know I could find elsewhere at four times the price. That being said, it makes it so much easier for me to justify my random, unplanned purchases. Oh, I still enjoy perusing the designer shops. Take for instance Anthropology, a store I walk by on my way to Italian class in the heart of San Francisco. If my train is early and I have a few moments to waste before meeting with Pia at Italingua for an hour of conversation, I will slip into Anthropology and admire the beautiful clothes. I will take a moment to enjoy the unique and lovely fabrics, the styles with a distinctly European flair, and the sweaters with fun sequin details. I might even take a moment to try something on. But, then I look at the price and the fun of purchasing something simply vanishes. I speed on out the door and into the Flood building next door, to keep my appointment with Pia on the seventh floor.

However, on the train ride home, something that I saw at Anthropology inevitably stays with me. I definitely liked some of the styles and patterns that I saw artfully hung on hangers and stylishly displayed about the store. I look at my watch and realize that I have forty extra minutes before the kids arrive at home and I think to myself..."self, maybe it wouldn't hurt to stop by the mall on the way home". Now, when I say mall, I really mean only one place and that would be my fav store - T.J. Max. You have heard the commercials...brand names for less - you should go! Well, I do go, and I go often! However, when I enter T.J. Max it is simply impossible to enter with a totally preconceived, set in stone, idea of finding a specific blouse, shoe or dress. I go with an open mind and if some interesting item separates itself from the tumultuous hodge podge of clothes crammed together on a rack, then I go with the moment. Part of the fun is the hunt; quite a different experience from sorting through the elegant displays at Anthropology, however, much more rewarding for me in the end. If I am lucky, I will find something very similar to what I was gazing at in San Francisco only hours before; with a dramatic spot light display and a higher price tag, no one would know the difference. I chuckle to myself at my brilliance and give myself a pat on the back as I sidle up to the cashier.

It makes me happy to wear fun and unusual things. I treat myself to mini shopping sprees and chalk it up to yet another form of self expression. After all, what you choose to wear is just another little calling card to the world that states who you are. I have a new favorite skirt, one that I purchased just last week. I am wearing it at this very moment. It is made of soft cotton, with a drop waist and has pleats. It has a swashy peachy/orangey watercolor-like pattern of domes and a cityscape reminiscent of Rome. There is a double border of rick rack around the hem. It is comfortable and makes me feel great. Feeling good, paying less, expressing myself... what could better than that? There, I've convinced myself. A little bit of a shop-aholic...not such a problem after all! I knew these blogs could be therapeutic!

I have a cold...or is it allergies?

Since yesterday morning, I have been suffering from cold-like symptoms. However, I am not entirely convinced that I actually have a cold, as it hasn't manifested itself into a full-blown, stuffy-nose, sore-throat kind of deal, and seems to have more characteristics suspicious of just being a run of the mill, garden variety, allergy to pollen. I wasn't even sure I was feeling up to blogging this afternoon, as my head is kind of fuzzy and my nose is twitching, and the idea of a nap was starting to seem appealing and necessary. But, after having some acorn squash soap, some cashews, a bowl of blueberries, and of course a big handful of Girl Scout cookies, I'm feeling slightly more coherent than I was an hour ago.

I was watching CNN yesterday and heard an interesting statistic. Did you know that happy couples tend to heal physical and surgical wounds 40% faster than unhappy couples? Just a interesting little factoid to mention at your next cocktail party. At any rate, this is an encouraging statistic for me, since I consider myself lucky enough to live with a guy who makes me laugh on a daily basis and who asks me to marry him about twice a week. He watches Italian movies with me, eats whatever I cook without complaining (whether it be something suspect and reheated in tupperware or something gourmet and divine served on the good china) and cheerfully puts up with my mood swings. Oh, we have our moments when we don't see eye to eye on things. But, the nice thing is, that neither of us harbours grudges when we do argue; after a cooling off period, we don't continue stewing around about something trivial or carry around excess baggage. We can get mad at each other, but after we have stated our minds, the air clears and we continue on without continuing to dream up instances of perceived slights, or feeling the need to even a score by doing or saying mean things. About twice a month, we go on a date together. When one of us starts feeling that the other is concentrating a little too much on their own particular work or extracurricular activities, the other will suggest that it is time to spend some time together alone. We find sitters for the kids and we go out and see a movie and have dinner, just the two of us; we reconnect, talk and listen to each other.

My head is starting to get fuzzy again and I'm starting to sneeze and I'm not sure where I was going with this blog. I guess, if you are to believe CNN, then my cold should be getting better; maybe I am on the mend and by tomorrow I will be the picture of health once again. On the other hand, if it is just allergies (I wonder what CNN has to say about allergies) I may be sneezing for a couple of more days. Regardess, I think a nap is sounding better and better. Or maybe I should just have a another handful of Girl Scout cookies....

The happiness of Kyle

Kyle and I spent the day together. His two older brothers left this morning at 7am for a bicycle campout along the coast. I went back to bed after having overseen their departure and Kyle woke me up later around 9am, by sticking his head into our bedroom to see if I was already awake. Noticing that one of my eyes was peeking back at him, he immediately jumped into bed with me. My husband was already up and out the door, leaving a nice cozy snuggling spot wide open for Kyle.

There are a couple of things you should know about Kyle, if you haven't already surmised them. 1. He never stops talking. 2. He is full of questions. 3. He loves to do projects.

Nestled in bed together we decided to spend the day planting flowers. My heart does little summersaults when Kyle looks up at me and says "I love spending together time with you, mom." It was a glorious, sunshiny day and we planted big yellow and red flowers in the giant pots that sit on the patio; the pots, that we picked out at the "New Italian Ceramic Company" in Oakland, three weeks after moving back to California. Kyle and I worked cheerfully together and filled the garden and patio with bright splashes of color. When, we ran out of flowers to plant we decided to make another trip to the local garden store. On the way I fielded questions like, "how are mirrors made?", "how do they grow more green seedless grapes if there are no seeds in them to plant?", and "are there germs in space?"

At the plant store, Kyle skipped away to find the carp pond and then flitted off in search of the resident cat that naps amongst the geraniums. He cheerfully called out for me to not forget to buy a big box of snail bait so that our beautiful flowers would live through the night. We do have quite a few snails to contend with and we needed to mount an attack to keep them under control. On one occasion last summer, I put my foot into my rubber gardening clogs only to feel the unpleasant "squish" of a snail that had snuck into the toe of my shoe. Not the greatest of sensations and one I would prefer not to repeat.

Back home I was industriously hacking away at the clay on our back hill, intent on replanting the purple Verbina, which sadly, last year, had become snail fodder. Kyle became quiet impatient with me. He wanted, in the worst way, to join in the digging too. But, it was tough going, even for me, and I wanted to quickly get the brunt of the work over with. He proceeded to break into tears and cry and carry on, saying I was the worst mom ever, and that I should be more sensative to his feelings. By this time, I too was tired and impatient and tried to placate him, but, to no avail. The crying got louder and his fussing kept escalating, so much so, that I'm sure the entire neighborhood was getting a very loud earful. Finally, I sat back and racked my brains for a plan. Kyle just wanted to dig holes and plant flowers. He didn't care if it was difficult or if there was a certain design he needed to follow. All he wanted was to get in there and dig! So, I searched our meager supply of gardening implements, found another trowel and luckily, a couple of packets of flower seeds that had been sitting forgotten, at the very back of a catch-all kitchen drawer. I pointed out a patch of ground and told him to dig and plant to his hearts content. Meanwhile, I finished planting the Verbina; aching muscles attest to the fact that it was indeed hard labor. Kyle had found happines again and even apologized for having caused such a scene. "It's just that I wanted to help mom, and you weren't letting me." It doesn't take much to make Kyle happy, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that eventually those seeds Kyle planted somewhere in the garden, actually do sprout. Because, the happiness of Kyle, is a beautiful thing.

Growing into the silence

I have been following along with Ruthie Annie's blog, after having randomly stumbled upon it a few weeks ago. Her blog struck a chord with me as she does a lot of soul searching and exploring of what it means to be a Quaker and how we all fit into this universe and if there is rhyme or reason or a plan...or not. Sometimes I wonder why certain people, thoughts or things pop into my life at certain times to bring relevance and new meaning. Reading her blog, and the various responses other people have made to her blog, has had an interesting repercussive effect on my own life. It has allowed me to express my own thoughts about certain aspects of what I believe. I am finding that blogging, reading others, and writing mine, is proving to be a very viable means of self study and contemplation. It is giving me a new voice to express myself (beyond my normal visual outlets) regarding the commenting upon all things mundane and small, to the greater exploration of what I believe and how I approach the world.

This morning I visited her blog and left a comment. I returned later to capture the comment that I had left and put it on a sticky post it on my hard drive, because I wanted to remember it for later. Then, as I was sitting down to read my email I decided that I would make a blog of it because, well, that is what I do now! Here is what I wrote to Ruthie, early this morning when I woke up at 5am on a Saturday. Why is it that on the weekends when I can finally sleep in some, I wake up before the crack of dawn...well, I had some alone time, and I wanted to write a note to Ruthie (and then I went back to bed of course!)

Hi Ruthie, I am enjoying reading your blog and following along in your journey. It is a journey for all of us, knowing what to believe... My family has Quaker roots that go way back...my mother's side of the family can trace it's Quaker roots back to England. She was raised in New Jersey, in a "traditional" silent meeting for worship, and went to meeting in an old meeting house. My father was raised in Indianopolis, in a "newer" less traditional Quaker meeting that had a minister, and was more "talkative" and organized. I was raised in a more informal meeting, basically silent, some talking, but loosely structured and normally our meetings were held in a small chapel at the college where my dad taught or in someone's living room. The mom's conducted Sunday school for the kids, and aside from art projects and learning about Quakerism we would often take long walks in the woods and see God's touches in the world around us. We would see his kiss on a milkweed pod, or hear his sound in the call of a morning dove. And as kids, we learned to sit together and gradually grow into the silence.

I married a man who was raised as a Catholic but rejects the Catholic faith. He was the first person, that when I met him, knew what Quakerism was about and felt comfortable with the Quaker ways of meditiation and approach to God. It was so nice that I didn't have to explain it to him. He got it right away. I think that is what drew me to him in the first place!

Today, while I don't attend a "formal" meeting for Quaker worship, I don't consider myself a "lapsed" Quaker, while my husband does consider himself a lapsed Catholic...or one who has rejected that faith all together. I guess, despite not attending "church" on a regular basis, I feel that I practice it every day in my every day life. My meeting can be sitting in the steam room after a workout and collecting & quieting my thoughts. It can be isolated moments when I am working in the garden, where I am touching the earth and pulling weeds, and my thoughts turn inward and I feel connected to the tangible world, and I feel the life force that binds us together. Or, sometimes it is just walking and seeing the golden light animate the leaves of a tree. That is when I truly feel spiritual. The beauty humbles me and in the silence my thoughts find God. So, I don't think you find God necessarily just sitting in silence, it is a practice that you take into the world and allows you to view it through new eyes.

1-1/2 Hours since waking up

In 1-1/2 hours since waking up this morning I have...

• hugged my husband
• picked up all the dirty clothes and started a load of laundry
• unplugged the toilet in the boy's bathroom
• collected garbage from all the upstairs wastebaskets
• taken out the recyclables and garbage to the bins at the side of the house
• kissed my eldest good morning
• unloaded the dishwasher
• checked e-mail
• raised the blinds in my office
• wished my two youngest a happy good morning
• driven two carpools, two schools, six kids
• discussed the book my son is reading for school (of which I can't remember the name at the moment, I was paying attention, I swear, and I know that it had a funny sounding title)
• after having looked at it all week, and not having done anything about it until this morning, I cleaned out the empty water bottles, the trash and a pair of socks that were strewn around the inside of the car
• found the bag containing the silicon caulk on a shelf in the garage (finally going to seal the boy's bath tub and make it a functioning tub again so they don't have to keep using our shower)
• had a 15-minute conference call with a client in Baltimore

Okay, I think it is time for breakfast and some coffee!

Wandering around Lucca

When we were wandering around Lucca last September, I kept noticing several interesting flyers displaying a painting of an Italian villa posted in the windows of bars and gelaterias. I was impressed with the image and discovered, upon further examination, that the flyers were advertising an art show, a "mostra", that was currently being held in the courtyard gallery in one of the numerous and unmemorable churches that Lucca has to offer. One of the things I love about Italian towns is the way they casually offer up art exhibits with out pretense or a lot of fan fair. It seems that around every corner, there is an open door, with a lone artist sitting at a table reading a book, waiting for the occasional passerby to enter and gaze upon his work. As we made our way in and around the nooks and cranies of Lucca, we ourselves often dipped frequently into these virtually deserted rooms, decorated with unusual and interesting landscapes and portraits.

On our second day in Lucca, I was particularly keen to track down the show advertised on the flyer that I had seen while sharing a eggplant panini with my husband. So, after we had been fortified by a stiff jolt of espresso, we navigated the labrinth of Lucasian streets until we finally located the cloisters of the Basilica of S. Frediano. We entered, and not surprisingly we were yet again greeted by a lone artist; this one sitting at a table with a bottle of wine and a sandwich in his hand. He had just been about to close the doors and return home for a nap, but our arrival caused him to change his plans, either out of boredom or by the prospect of perhaps selling us one of his paintings. The artist turned out to be an American, who had moved to Italy in in the 1950's. He had quite a lot to say about his work and his life in Italy; the people he knew and the places he hung out in and where he painted. While the rain began to fall in the open courtyard, we walked around the covered pathways viewing the paintings hung on the exterior walls of the church. After we had finished looking at all there was to see, with our personal escort still close at hand, we thanked him and retreated out the door. Back onto the streets of Lucca we continued our wanderings and evenutally found ourselves in a small piazza where some inventive artist had assembled a miniature medieval fortress, complete with turrets and towers, but at this point, sadly due to the rain, a soggy and collapsing miniature medieval fortress. I had no worries. Within hours I'm sure, after the rain had stopped, another Lucasian would put up another "mostra" to amuse and entertain all the wanderers and causal observers that find themselves strolling in and around Lucca, without any particular direction or motive.


An acrylic study I did, from a poster I saw in a gelateria advertising Robert Shaw's show

Handles

What is it about nicknames? You name someone something, a perfectly fine sounding name, and then you turn around and on a daily basis, call them something completely different. I guess it is our way of showing affection and creating an intimate bond with that person. Our family is very big into nicknames, so I am not blameless in this regard. We are always inventing some endearing and nonsensical name for each other and it seems that we have a fascination for rhyming and alliteration. Our kids anwser to Ry Ry, My My and Ky Ky for the most part. But, then they will answer to almost anything, because we do have trouble keeping the names straight. Most of the time when I am calling for one specific boy, I have to run through a litany of all three names before I get the name right. So, they all pretty much answer to "RyanMichaelKyleRyan"! And then there is my husband who was given the name John as a first name. Was he ever called that? Not really, no. Since the day he was born he has been called by his middle name, Patrick. It was enough to confuse and befuddle every school registrar he ever encountered, and continues to play havic with countless bureacratic agencies to this day.

When I was born, I was given the name Melissa Sykes Pray. There is an old story floating around that our surname was originally DuPre from the French, and that it had been changed when relatives made it to this country. So, that kind of explains my unusual last name. Fascination with last names seems to have been an affinity with my parents, as they gave all of their children middle names that were the last names of some ancestor. I was named after Thomas Sykes my great, great, great grandfather. In old tintypes he looks to be a formidable guy, so I have no idea what my mother was thinking at the time. My brother's middle name is Adams (we have some vague and distant relationship to the president) and my sister's middle name is Reeder, my mother's maiden name.

As a kid I always felt a little geeky about having kind of a weird name. Not only was it kind of strange to have Pray as my last name, but I got some unnecessary teasing about Sykes as my middle name. Growing up I only knew one other Melissa in my gradeschool. Again, I have no idea where my mother came up with the name. There is no history of any other Melissa's in the family. When asked, she just says she liked the name. I often secretly wonder if she were reading some novel at the time and came up with the name and just doesn't want to admit it. Looking back I don't know why I should have felt the slightest bit awkward about my name, seeing as I went to school with the likes of Chiara Niederhauser, Trina Mirstick and Cynthia Deskin. How I wish I could find Mrs. Niederhauser now and ask her where she came up with "Chiara", definitely Italian in origin, when the family clearly had its roots deeply planted in Germany!

I had several nicknames of endearment growing up. For better or for worse, one of my mother's favorites for me was and continues to be "Itsy Bitsy". It is written in my baby book. "Itsy Bitsy drank from a cup of milk today and then tipped it over her head and giggled and laughed." When I would come home from elementary school I would find my mother making peanut butter and raisin sandwiches for snacks and she would call out to me from the kitchen "How was your day, Itsy Bitsy?" Sometimes she still calls me this, despite that fact that I am all grown up and not feeling quite so itsy bitsy anymore. My mother also had this charming habit of referring to me as her "little legs". Mostly she called me this when she didn't feel like running up the stairs to get something she had left behind. Aside from those sweet little pet names, for the most of my life I was known as Missy. In fact, I let myself be called Missy all the way up until I graduated from college. I decided the summer that I left for graduate school that I would forever after be known as Melissa. To this day I can still separate friends from different walks of life based on what they call me. College & highschool friends still call me Missy. They think it is funny to hear me called Melissa, but work related friends and grad school buddies who all know me only as Melissa, snicker at the thought I was once a Missy.

My husband was kind of caught in the middle of my transition name period. He knew me first as Missy and then, when I boycotted that name, he was and continues to be at a bit of a loss as to what to call me. Oh, he refers to me as Melissa, to everyone else in the world, but he just never got the hang of calling me Melissa to my face. I think he thinks it sounds too formal for normal daily banter. As a result, he is constantly morphing my name into something short and funny. He refers to me as "Lis", "Lissa", "Lisser" "Psweetie" or simply "Hey Hon". My parents, brother and sister call me Missy. My kids call me mom. The children at the elmentary school call me Mrs. Muldoon. In one Italian forum I known as "Disegno" and in another "Disegnatrice". I guess I have gotten over feeling odd for having a weird name. I kind of like the distinction that comes with having a strange and unusual handle. As the years go by, I seem to be collecting more and more of them.


Itsy Bitsy


Me and mom

Do you know what March means....?

Just wanted to stop by and make a public announcement to the world. It's March!!!!! Yes, that's right, as if it wasn't obvious to you already, my birthday month is here! Today is the first day of a month-long celebration. My family is well accustomed to my blatant play for glory and gusto and has cheerfully decided to humor me and to participate in my 28-day countdown to the BIG day. In fact, two of my sons, independent of each other, walked into the kitchen this morning and gave me a hug and said "mom, happy birthday month!" Do I have them trained, or what!?!?!?! Anyway, wishing you all a happy first day of March.

Keeping things in balance

One of my greatest daily challenges is trying to achieve a sense balance and symmetry. For me this is extremely difficult to do, because I confess, I have a touch of an obsessive nature; my enthusiasm for any given project, often takes hold of me so much so, that I can lose hours of my day focused on one thing. I can get passionate about almost anything, from spending exorbitant amounts of time in front of the computer, to whole afternoons lost in the backyard trying to create order out of our chaotic little jungle of plants and weeds. Whatever the current project d'jour, after a while, I start to feel a bit out of kilter, and realize that I need to refocus my energies on some other aspect of my life in order to regain my balance. It is necessary to do this, to keep the creeping fingers of guilt that reach out and seek to strangle me, at bay. There is always guilt. Guilt that if I am focused on a client project, I'm not paying enough attention to my children. Guilt that if I'm chatting away on-line, I'm not focusing on pressing work related issues. If I am painting, I'm guilty that I'm not attending ball practice and avidly observing my kids run around the bases and cheering them on and building up their self esteem.

So, it is a tricky thing this balancing act I do. My center of gravity is continually being challenged...always tipping, tipping, tipping. I realize more and more that the key to my happiness is finding that point where I feel that I am giving equal weight to all the various areas of my life. "Everything in moderation", as my mother would say. A little of anything is a good thing, whether it be good wine, chocolate or how much time you spend at the computer. Hugging children, I am finding, is a great way for me to regain my precarious perch, a place where I feel things are in order and in balance again.