CONNECTIONS

A walk through a garden gate

Last Saturday, Bill and I attended a live podcast produced by Village Connect, a local non-profit with a mission to support families, schools, and individuals by developing cultural connections. The event was staged in a local church, which had been renovated with white walls everywhere, while still retaining the original stained glass windows that brought colored light into the room. It was a beautiful space.

I've spent many a Sunday throughout my life sitting in a church. I am not a religious person anymore, having given up Christianity when the extreme right took over back in the late 70s. I had to step back and examine my own beliefs when I repeatedly heard words and ideas that I didn't believe in. That doesn't mean that I have lost my love of churches. I find walking into one gives me a moment of stillness and quiet that I don't experience in a museum or other monumental place.

Angel in an old church in Norway

We sat in comfortable padded chairs positioned so that each person had plenty of room to walk down an aisle or place their possessions around them. The back of each chair had two pockets: one for donations and one for a pamphlet about the church, but no Bibles or hymns. Sitting, while we listened to the podcast interviews, I thought of other seating in other churches in my life. As a child, my family attended a local Methodist church, which met in a small traditional Gothic-style chapel with stained glass windows lining the stone walls. The church was dark and lit by candles. The pews were wooden and hard. A pew-length pocket contained a hymnal, a Bible, and envelopes to put in donations when the brass plate came down the aisle. The rows of pews were close together, too close for people to easily pass by others, so an usher guided latecomers to the outside of the row, and the seated group would move inward. We would be touching each other as we sat. I liked leafing through the hymnals to read when each hymn had been written and by whom. I tried to stay as still as I could so I could continue to sit with my parents instead of going to Sunday school.

The church grew in the 60s and built a modern version with enormous stained glass windows over the altar and side walls, flooding the space with light. The pews remained the same, straight-backed hardwood, except they now had cushions. Bill and I were later married in the old chapel because I loved the traditional space and the organ music that enveloped the room.

As an adult, I attended a local church with a large congregation for a while, as well as various other churches when we lived in Tokyo and Paris. All of those churches had the same hard pews, and I imagined that those seats were made deliberately hard by the builders to develop discipline and humility. We visited churches such as Chartres Cathedral, where we arrived just as the organist sat down to practice, and the sound reverberated throughout the cathedral. We followed the purification rituals when we visited Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, dipping the wooden cup offered into the clear, running water, pouring the water onto our hands, and rinsing our mouths before we turned to walk through the torii gate. We also removed our shoes before we entered the temple. In each place, we found wonder, beauty, and quiet spaces created by the builders.

A torii gate leading to a temple in Japan

As I moved away from the church, I still found myself walking into churches in different locations, such as Carmel, where The Church of the Wayfarer's garden features plants and trees referenced in the Bible, and inside a dark, quiet space much like the church of my childhood.

In the last few months, I have attended memorial services for friends at churches that have made changes in the way people are seated. Padded cushions cover the pews of one church. Another had taken the pews out entirely and substituted individual chairs. Last Saturday, comfortable chairs filled the sanctuary. Instead of family and friends sharing the same tight, uncomfortable spaces, I now found a separate, comfortable place for each person. We weren't touching each other, nor did we need to make room for someone else. I wondered if the removal of the pews for individual seats reflected our own view of who we are and our place in this changing world.

Find out about the work Village Connect does here:

https://www.village-connect.org

Origins of the religious right:

https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2014/05/religious-right-real-origins-107133/ 

Before you go to Japan, check out this site about purification rituals at Japanese temples and shrines:

https://japantravel.navitime.com/en/area/jp/guide/NTJhowto0142-en/#:~:text=Before%20entering%20the%20shrine%20through,basin%2C%20ready%20to%20be%20used.

FRIENDS AROUND A TABLE

Bread: so you never know hunger

Salt: so that life may always have flavor

Sugar: so that your life shall always be sweet

A typical Scandinavian housewarming gift includes these three simple ingredients. Recently, a friend with Scandinavian roots presented me with these items. Her gift made me think about the importance of our friendship and how those same ingredients are universal and underappreciated until they are not available. The Scandinavians have it right in providing basic food as a gift.

This week, a group of longtime friends gathered together for lunch on a California day of brilliant sunshine and not too hot weather. We sat outside in the arbor-covered patio and talked about our families, our activities, and our commitments to righting wrongs. We all belong to AAUW, a women's organization founded in 1880 by Marion Talbot, who was a champion of women's education and empowerment when college education was widely considered detrimental to women's health. Talbot began the long AAUW tradition of supporting women's equality and rights. Our group and the women of today benefited from the actions of women before us who advocated for our rights. First, all of the group are college graduates. We have been teachers, mothers, and community leaders.

We have learned to support each other in whatever way we each choose to express our opinions. Some of us attended the protest marches in various towns near us on June 14. Some of us write, email, and call our representatives about issues that are important to us. We have also learned ways to find quiet moments in our daily lives, whether by spending time with family, traveling to new places, taking long walks, or making art. We have learned the importance of community in providing companionship and support for the issues that matter to us. We have learned that community provides the bread, salt, and sugar of our lives.

There are 3 words in this piece.
Can you find how many times each word is repeated?

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Mencius:

"Friendship is one mind in two bodies."

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Check out AAUW here: https://www.aauw.org  AAUW welcomes men as members.

If you are in San Francisco this summer, visit the Kalligraphia exhibit
near the Rare Book Room in the Main Library. 

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If you were born in 1975 and are a woman, you have enjoyed equal rights for 50 years. Read Jesse Piper's post about her generation and the rights that women are losing now:

https://substack.com/home/post/p-166244658

NATURE RULES

After taking Kristen Doty's colored pencil workshop,
I have been experimenting with the medium,
which I haven't used in a long time.

With a bang, the wind slammed the bedroom window shut. We live in a windy city, and San Francisco, like most cities near large bodies of water, feels the power of nature each day. The wind is strongest in springtime when the temperatures in the interior can reach peaks of 100 degrees or more while the Pacific Ocean remains cold. If you've ever stuck your toes into the Pacific Ocean in Northern California, you will remember the chill sent through your bones with that bare touch. Since moving to the city, we have lived in high-rises that exacerbate the wind that comes directly from the ocean. The buildings create tunnels that thrust the wind down the street, whipping tree branches, hats, and people.

The fierce wind made me think of the few birds that populate the courtyard framed by the building complex we live in. The trees there sway, rustle, and bend with the wind. Usually, the finches sing early in the morning, and I watch them as they fly up three more stories to a small deck that has plantings along the railings. The finches hide there, away from the wind, for a little while. Yesterday, a crow tried to cling to the top of one of the branches of the trees but gave up after being pitched back and forth.

The bang of the window woke me from a sound sleep. I tried my latest sleep-inducing exercise, Cognitive Shuffling, which I recently read about in a NY Times article. I mumbled Pluto to myself and then added a string of words beginning with P until I ran out, then started with L words, and somewhere in there, I fell back to sleep. I sleep much better than I did when I was younger and was full of responsibilities and concerns, and even younger when I was full of fear of the dark and the sound of the mantel clock ticking in another room. I don't nap during the day because I think of my dad, an insomniac, who would stretch out on the living room floor during his afternoon break from his studio, but then would toss and turn most of the night.

I have tried many different remedies for getting to sleep. Now, I don't do any of them because I usually don't need them. I sleep profoundly. Previously, I murmured to myself a set of songs. Or I counted backwards from 100. I found reading to be helpful for a long time, but then the novels that I chose were so compelling that I stayed awake longer just to finish one more chapter. Sometimes, I turn to Walking: One Step at a Time and Silence in the Age of Noise by Erling Kagge because each of them offer thoughts on simplicity, life challenges, and the need to step away from a busy life (or right now, from the news) to examine the ordinary things that continue no matter what else is occurring. Now, if I find myself taking a long time to go to sleep, I get up, walk around, and go back to bed. That window last night banging brought back lots of anxious thoughts and tensions from the news, and I gladly looked for a way to distract my mind to sleep. Pluto, photo, ping, phone, pong, pill, plunge, pollen....

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Douglas Wood suggested these words to use this weekend: Gumption. Grit. Fortitude.Righteousness.Freedom. Independence: Pride. Persistence. Stamina. Tenacity. Backbone. Determination. Resolution. Honor. Dignity. Empathy. Sacrifice. Service.  All good words to remember and to instill in everything we do.

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Something for me to celebrate: my workspace is finally getting cleared of all the art supplies I brought with me. I have found a place for paints, brushes, cans of colored pencils, trays of marking pens, sketchbooks, glue, and all the other supplies that encourage me to be creative and try new things. I now have a clear space that I have been missing for a long time.

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Check out Kristen Doty's website for some spectacular colored pencil artwork:

https://kristendoty.com/?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAacciEyUTfWXGPmP3tu9KeDgakK0ZIK10mWOYVZ7pQ1bQHS-YJOVLw7APf-CRg_aem_CsxKXs6T0V3GYGJc-ZJaqQ

DIFFERENT WINDOWS OF LIFE

Country Road by Bill Slavin

The light captured us. We chose our new place because of the light streaming through every large window in each room. The windows let the light in, which also means I can see through them into the windows of the building next to us, where I catch a glimpse of the new mom as she walks her baby back and forth, and the man sitting in the opposite building reading in his easy chair. I can see people being dropped off by Lyft/Uber/taxi below and watch as others put suitcases in trunks and drive away. And they all can see me.

We've always loved looking out the windows in any place we've lived, but we've never been able to see directly into our neighbors' windows before. There was a tall wooden wall outside our first apartment in Mountain View, a driveway and garages in another, and our first two home purchases were corner lots with windows facing away from other homes. In Japan, we were 14 stories up with a small park and a busy city street below. No other buildings impeded our view of Mt. Fuji. In France, our patio doors looked out across a narrow street onto the roof of another building. Our last house in Danville was placed on a lot at an angle, so our windows didn't look directly into our neighbors. Our new view is disconcerting. We sometimes feel like Peeping Toms. We are working to look without really looking at anything that catches our eyes. We now understand why the people in many of the condos keep their curtains drawn all the time. We are discovering one way that city life can be so different.

Window by Bill Slavin

This past weekend, we were reminded of the difference when we took a trip to Pt. Reyes Station, a small town near the edge of the Pacific Coast and positioned close to the San Andreas Fault (it runs through the bay on one side of Pt. Reyes). Bill came to wander around Tomales Bay State Park to capture on camera some of the tule elk living in the park. He didn't see any elk, but he took some evocative pictures.

Ranch Land Near Tomales Bay by Bill Slavin

I came for the writers' workshop, "Writing the Language of Color in the Home of Sam Francis," led by Elizabeth Fishel and Susan Tillet. The workshop was held in the house where Sam Francis, the abstract expressionist, lived with his fifth wife. When he died, the house was purchased to become a writer's retreat. The interior walls of the house have been painted with colors that Sam Francis used in his paintings. Bookcases line the main room of the house, painted a deep teal. Three of the tall bookcases are filled with books written by writers who came to the house to write. The spirit of many of the writers fills this vibrant house.

Wandering through the natural garden mixed with its flowering native, some non-native plants and bumblebees, I came across a few small sculptures, set not as the dominant theme of the garden, but tucked into the bushes and trees as if they too had grown up out of the ground. I stopped, listened, and heard nothing but silence until a few birds chirped in the apple trees. The silence made me think of our city life, where there is a constant thrum like a river, sometimes a roar, of traffic. I took a deep breath of the silence before I sat down to write.

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Mesa Refuge in Pt. Reyes offers space for writers and activists:

https://mesarefuge.org

Look for future writers' workshops with Elizabeth Fishel and Susan Tillet here:

http://wednesdaywriters.com/events.html

Check out Sam Francis' work here:

https://samfrancis.com

View from the window   May 2025

THINGS TO KEEP

 

Some people can enjoy the moment and do not need keepsakes as reminders of their memories. I am not one of them. I may have inherited that trait from my dad. When I first looked through my dad's memorabilia after both parents died, I thought what he left behind was evidence of a man who wanted to achieve recognition. He kept records from an early age, including awards, newspaper articles, photo albums filled with people he knew and places he traveled to, and once he received the recognition, binders full of fan letters.

As a kid, I was encouraged to keep scrapbooks (I think to keep my sister and me out of my mother's hair). The activity became a custom that I've carried in some form throughout my life. Besides the events that went into the scrapbooks up until I graduated from college, I've also kept records of what I eat each day, my weight, blood pressure readings, and several journals full of comments about books I've read. I think of one of my aunts who kept meticulous records of the weather in the middle of Minnesota. As a farming family, those records were important. I can't say the same about my own. They are a habit acquired and never really questioned. They are a moment of silence at the beginning of my day. Some people greet the sun in the morning. My habit is to write down the day and date. My way to acknowledge a new day.

Bill rediscovered a photo album of his ancestors and relatives that I had assembled many years ago from photos and papers handed down from his parents when they moved into a senior living home. Bill, unlike me, is not a saver of mementos, but he has spent time, as we sort through our things, going through this unexpected treasure as well as old yearbooks. We saved all of these things because we had the space and through inertia, but now, finding them again has given us time to reflect on our lives before we pass these treasures on to someone else.

Inspired by a circle. A labyrinth 4 life.
Wander. Wonder. Live.
Life is a series of circles and spirals.
By Martha Slavin

Keeping all the pieces of a life can become a burden. On the other hand, if I hadn't kept some of the scraps of paper, letters she wrote, and her old photo albums, I would not know that my mother tried out for a movie part in Los Angeles or about her young life living in Ohio that she recorded hastily on a piece of scrap paper. Within the photo albums, I found copies of senior class pages from her yearbook. I made copies of those photos on an inkjet printer. I washed the copies with water, which allowed the ink to flow away. What I had left was a bluish-purple faded memory of each photo. 

The young men in the photos would have been the right age to become part of the WWII military. I don't know their personal histories, but I used the photos as a symbol of all the lost boys who go to war. I cut a piece of Hahnemuele printing paper into long strips, scrawled some dry brushstrokes of watercolor across the surface, and glued the photos down. Throughout the book, I wrote a poem about the effects of war on each generation since WWII.

Lost Boys: Lost to real manhood
Off to war
Chanting U.S.A. Stomping cadence.
Brash. Steely-eyed. Bravado.
Immortal, young gods,
Buried in the trenches, in the foxholes,
by one step on an IED
Leaving
Silence
Some return calmed by their generation's balm:
Alcohol. Cocaine. Meth.
Living on the streets.
Forgotten.

I go back and forth about keeping things. Is it a burden or an opportunity? I've come to the conclusion it is both. Most items are opportunities, but only if I can find the time to sit and think about them. Otherwise, they just become part of the stacks of our lives.

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 Norm Eisen's parents told him:

“Your job is not to finish the work—but neither are you, the child of free people, not to do your share.”

SANGUINE OR NOT

Life Lines #2 by Martha Slavin

 An artist friend sent me a square of ArtGraf water-soluble tailor's chalk called Sanguine, a blood red color. It's a beautiful hue, and the chalk can be drawn on its tip to create fine lines or used on its broad edge and scraped across the page to resemble dry dirt, wood, or brick walls. Brushing the marks with some water intensifies the color.

Mark making with an ArtGraf chalk

"Sang" is the French word for blood. The French extended the word into sanguine, which means optimistic. And sang is also found in the word sang-froid (blood-cold) an old version of keeping one's cool. And recently, the French have added the slang term, Le Sang, a phrase that suggests blood is thicker than water, or slightly differently, that friends are like family. In English, sanguine also means cheerfully optimistic, but also indicates a ruddy complexion. MairimeriBlu, an Italian watercolor paint maker, produces a color called Sangue di Drago (Dragon's Blood) that creates a ruddy skin color for watercolor.

I gravitate to this blood-red, rusty-looking color often, whether in watercolor or book-arts, or calligraphy. I choose it along with Aurelin Yellow and Cerulean Blue as my primary colors from which I mix other colors.

Merchant by Martha Slavin

After many weeks, my desk is finally reappearing from under the layers of art supplies that cluttered the surface. While sorting through my art supplies, I haven't had the energy or space to make art. But tomorrow, with a clean work space, I will be taking a color pencil class. I was sent the supply list weeks ago, just after I made a donation of art materials to a local non-profit that provides materials to teachers. I gave away my last box of wax-based color pencils. I figured I didn't need the wax-based ones because when I use colored pencils, I use water-soluble ones and have a jar full of them.  Checking the class supply list the other day, I found the request for either wax- or oil-based colored pencils. I sighed. Oh, well, I told myself the kind I have will have to do. I'm sanguine that what I have will work.

Sanguine colors the X

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One of the best things about knowing talented calligraphers is that, occasionally, when I open our mailbox, I find an envelope in the mail that is as exquisite as this one. Thank you, RM.

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Mark Twain: “To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

SHARED VALUES

One of my favorite quotes

 We are seeing the end.

That short sentence stopped me in my tracks as I wrote it. What did I mean? Are we coming to the end of our lives? Have all the chaotic events raining down on our country been halted? Has disrespect for the rule of law won, and is what we know as civilization coming to an end, to be replaced by a cruel, dog-eat-dog world? Those thoughts grew larger and larger as I stopped writing, when I only meant to say that our two-year vagabond quest to find a new home is coming to a close. We are unpacking and sorting the last tidbits. We are doing normal, everyday chores. Art supplies are stored in boxes, writing implements are tucked into drawers, paint jars are bundled into carts, kitchen equipment rests behind cabinet doors. We feel more rested and think of new adventures as we start this new phase of our lives. Still mindful of the news around us, we draw support from friends and let our voices be heard when we can.

Two thought-provoking books

I've picked up The Righteous Mind, a book by Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist who wrote The Happiness Hypothesis. In this new book, he suggests that we are born with an innate sense of morality and justice, that our normal tendencies for those values rise up when we are confronted with their opposites, that we naturally collect in groups, which can lead us in different directions, either to grow and change or become hide-bound in our beliefs. His thoughts identify much of what we have experienced in the world today. I recall that as a young teacher, my principal reminded me that not everyone shares the same values. I remember being taken aback by that statement, even though I had lived through the 1950s and 1960s, marked by wars and the civil rights movement, and seen tremendous strife between people. I still believed that deep inside, we had the same core values. I was taken aback again when Trump was re-elected. I was confused and stunned by other people's choices. I know we all have the dark side within us, but I thought we had evolved beyond those negative reactions. I was wrong. I need to remind myself of what I hold dear.

Haidt's book reminded me of an exercise I found to determine what I value. The exercise starts with three categories: The Individual, Those Around You, and For the World. I sorted the ideas from most important to least for each category. Like the sentence, "We are seeing the end," I found each phrase had a deep meaning, which made it difficult to put them in order of significance. None of these include the negative values that have risen again. Here are the choices in random sequence:

Justice and morality                Beauty and creativity               Knowledge and truth

Love and compassion              Respect for the environment     Health and well-being

Joy and laughter        Appreciation and contentment         Faith and forgiveness

In what order would you place these concepts? 

Does each category make the order of the concepts different for you?

We are seeing in the world today what we value most.