WHAT WE MISS

Aren't all babies beautiful?

When Theo was little and the most beautiful baby in the world, we couldn't get past one person in the grocery store without them stopping to "oh and ah" as he sat sandwiched between two rolls of paper towels in the seat of the grocery cart. (We ended up with almost a lifetime supply of paper towels by they time he outgrew the need to be supported.)

I thought of that joy as I walked on the other side of the street from a family that I see on my walks. They have two young children, one still in a stroller, the other on a tricycle. They sat in the shade as they cooed and giggled at their youngest one. I couldn't go over to take a peek. A young man walked by with his fluffy dog. We had talked before how much the dog missed interacting with people on their walks. He would pull and tug on his leash as I came by.

Bill and I spent an afternoon in the San Francisco financial district recently. The streets are usually teaming with people, shopping, sightseeing, running for coffee, or standing in line for lunch. Food trucks dot the sidewalks as cars, trucks and buses roar by. Now Bill walked in the eerie silence while I visited my eye doctor. When we were together again, we felt like we were traipsing in the aftermath of an apocalypse. We moved past closed restaurants and stores, a favorite coffee shop gone with a For Lease sign in the window, and the one bright spot, Alexander Book Co., its front door invitingly open. 

Time-lapse photo by Bill Slavin of stars and the new comet, Neowise. This week has been the peak for the Perseid meteor shower. Look up.

The bookstore has always been a favorite of ours with its extensive collection of intriguing books. Just past the front door, they have the latest fiction and non-fiction as well as periodicals that are hard to find. At the back, a narrow staircase winds up to the second floor with its array of multi-cultural children's books, travel books, and philosophy. On the basement level, Alexander stocks art and graphic design books because they are near a local art college as well as samples of business and other non-fiction. The most intriguing section on the main floor is a revolving collection by Black authors with books by well-known authors as well as books of light fiction similar to the mysteries on the shelves to the left.

August is Black Business Month. Though Alexander Books is not black owned, they have reached out to the diverse communities in the City and are worth supporting. Each purchase we made at Alexander Books buys a tree through the group, Trees for the Future. So far, Alexander Books has planted over 500,000 trees! 

Our stroll through the City reminded us that small things count. When we recover from 2020, the Amazons and the other big entities will still be around, but the small businesses that create the vibrance of a community could be gone if we don't support them. 

Because this summer is so different from others we experienced, I've asked people for reading list suggestions and have received some good ideas, though they are not your typical summer reads. These books are available at local independent booksellers.

From PatK:
Timefulness: How Thinking Like a Geologist Can Help Save the World, by Marcia Bjornerud
"I just finished reading this book by Marcia Bjornerud, a professor of Geology and Environmental Sciences. This is a very accessible and engaging description of how our planet came to be, how we know how old it is and how it developed and changed over eons. At the same time, the professor puts in context the frightening speed of current climate change and the urgent need for action now that we are in the Anthropocene, where human actions are overwhelming the healing power of the planet's natural systems. Thought-provoking and hard to put down."

From Teresa:
The Overstory by Richard Powers, a powerful and beautiful novel about the importance of trees.
The River by Peter Heller, which she describes as a poetic thriller!

From Marcia:
So You Want To Talk About Race by Ijeoma Olua. She describes her experiences growing up mulatto in Seattle with a White mom in a White city. The book is not pleasant to read but the social and structural injustice that she talks about is eye-opening.
Dispatches from Pluto...Lost and Found in the Mississippi Delta by Richard Grant, which is very descriptive of what life in Mississippi is like, then and now.

From Mary:
The Honey Bus by Meredith May, a memoir about a girl, her grandfather and the first time a bee crawled up her arm. The story evolves into the importance of nature in her life and how the bees helped her to find a home.
I Who Would Not Die by Meredith May, the story of two child soldiers in Iran.

From Rose:
We Were Eight Years in Power by Ta-Nehisi  Coates
Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer, who investigates religious extremism found in a sect of Mormons. Krakauer, known for his book about climbing Mt. Everest, also has written Where Men Win Glory, a book about Patrick Tillman, a football player, who was killed in Afghanistan.

And my recommendations for lighter reading:

When we are not reading, we have been catching up on some good streaming shows and movies including:

A Short History of a Long Road: the odyssey of a young teenager as she searches for a home.
Fisherman's Friend: delightful movie about a group of fishermen who become overnight music sensations in the U.K.
Driveways:  At the death of her sister, a young woman and her son come to pack up the contents of the sister's house. The boy befriends a gruff neighbor. Brian Dennehy's last performance.
A French Village: a series about a French village occupied by Nazis and the effect on the villagers.
Honeyland: An isolated woman tends bees in a traditional manner until her life is interrupted by new neighbors
Booksellers: a documentary about the rare book sellers in NYC

Read about Alexander Book Company here:
https://www.alexanderbook.com

http://www.coastnews.com/sf/abco.htm

After you read The Overstory, you might want to read about the restorative work that Trees for the Future is doing here:
https://trees.org

Read how difficult it can be to be a bookseller, especially a gay black bookseller:
https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/print/20000424/34581-pw-vallejo-welcomes-new-bookstore.html

Support Black-owned business beyond Black Business Month:
https://aalbc.com/bookstores/index.php?statename=California

WHEN WOMEN SUPPORT EACH OTHER

Nine years ago, a group of friends came together at my home for Craft Day. We worked on the unfinished projects that we all had hidden away in drawers and closets. The group has changed over time as some people have moved on. Still, there are sometimes as many as thirteen people at Craft Day, sometimes just four. Whether we have a crowd or just a few, we come away with more work accomplished and also with the joy of friendship. Until SIP, we have met once a month since that beginning in 2011.

Some of us did not do crafts in the beginning, but gradually tried making cards or fabric garlands or brought coloring books. After a couple of hours of work and conversation, we stopped for Stone Salad, a variation on the old story about Stone Soup. Each person brought one item to add to the salad greens. We had a homemade soup as well as other goodies that crafters brought.

We all miss our Friday Craft Days, but I discovered through an email to everyone that most of the Craft Day participants have used the shelter-in-place time to be productive in some way. What a joy for me to see what they have been working on.

Marcia, always looking for a craft, has started weaving pine needles into baskets. Her tightly woven beginnings in this photo is beautiful all by itself.

by Marcia

Two members have been taking online watercolor classes. Terri takes classes through Let's Make Art on Facebook. She has been someone who claims she isn't artistic, but I am amazed at the work she has accomplished in only a few months.

by Terri

by Terri

Micki uses fabrics and other materials for her thoughtful media pieces, including this delightful pillow. Now she is also taking watercolor classes online. Her sketches of watermelon slices are reminders of hot summer days, of sipping iced tea on my grandparents' back patio, of spitting the black seeds out into the garden in hopes that a "Watermelon Tree" might grown in the next season.

by Micki

Mary, a prolific quilter and card maker, has produced two beautiful quilts and many cards. Her cards remind me of her precise quilting style. She has also put her pen to postcards and letters encouraging people across the country to register to vote.

2 Quilts by Mary

cards by Mary

Debi looks on Pinterest and other sites for good craft ideas. She loves to make decorations for each holiday, including this flag container and the fabric garland to place on a mantel.

crafts by Debi

Pam, who has many projects, wrote:

"It's so fun learning how everyone is keeping busy.

I started organizing everything in my pathway.

After that I started cooking everyday (love my new Ninja Foodi!)

I've been gardening including experimenting with an old, sprouted potato.

I learned to color my own hair and practiced while my sister visited.

And then I thought it only fair that Chloe (the cat) also got a new Summer do."

"But mostly I've been card making. With each card, I challenge myself to practice new techniques such as ink and texture blending, making 3D cards, hand printing and drawing." 

3D Cards by Pam

Pam ended her comments by saying, "Thanks for letting me share. Back to talking to myself again!"

During this time of sheltering in place, masks on, physically distancing from each other, I know that I am sometimes overwhelmed, lethargic, but also buoyed by the people I know. I am heartened by this group of friends who used to come together once a month and continue to stay creative in a difficult time. Perhaps our Craft Days have carried us through this time to continue to challenge ourselves to find hidden talents.

Check out Let's Make Art's website at: https://www.letsmakeart.com

WALK WITH THE WIND

The kind, thoughtful words of the eulogies for John Lewis yesterday brought tears to my eyes. The words reminded me of what good is in all of us. The words encouraged us to recognize that each of us has a point of view and that we all have worth. John Lewis surely epitomizes the phrase Black Lives Matter.

The sounds of the measured voices in the church in Georgia, rested me, pulled away the sense of despair that haunts me as I listen each day to the actions and words of people who have forgotten the meaning of our democratic values of compassion, empathy, honesty and equality, and who I fear will take those values away to fulfill their own purposes. For a while, I was restored to a quieter, more meaningful place.

Sometimes we don't understand the value of people like John Lewis till they are near the end of their lives. His commitment to equality, justice and making each day better for all of us holds us together. He wasn't alone. He had mentors and colleagues who worked for those same values. He reached out to people, big and small, to form coalitions to fight for those issues.

Keep Moving Forward, he said. 

He did so all his life. 

He represents what is best about America.

 He gave us hope.

As a champion of voting rights, John R. Lewis asked all of us to vote this coming election. Remember that your vote is your voice.

Watch the PBS documentary about John Lewis here:https://www.pbs.org/show/john-lewis-get-in-the-way/

FIRE HYDRANTS AND OTHER ANIMALS

Do you see a cactus
or an animal burrowing into the rocks with only its tail and hind end showing?

Arizona in February is too hot for winter, but we kept to the shady side of the street as we walked along the art district of Scottsdale looking for something we could take back with us on a plane. The sun cast deep, long shadows along the streets. The district radiated creative opportunities.

I stopped at a fire hydrant to take a photo.The hydrant was a stark object against a plain wall. I liked the position of the wall and the hydrant because together they could be the start of a watercolor painting. It wasn't until I got back to our hotel and looked through my photos that I had a good laugh.

Another fire hydrant in Canada

The photo reminded me to double check my images to make sure there are no unintended attention grabbers. One of my first college art class oil paintings taught me to step back and look carefully at my work. I labored over this still life and brought it home where it hung in my parents' dining room. It wasn't till one of my nephews asked what the deer was doing in the painting that I realized what I hadn't seen before. Now I can't see anything else.

I'm still learning that lesson. After taking an online class this summer, I looked over a watercolor sketch and saw, not the natural gas container I thought I had painted, but a big loaf of bread sitting outside the cabin.

I come from a family who looks for hidden objects: faces in unexpected places, shapes that turn from one thing to another. That activity has helped with my artwork. I can quickly pick out the optical illusions that I need to correct before someone else gets a good laugh.

Have you read any good books this summer? Here's my stack:

HOW TO MAKE LEMONADE WHEN ALL YOU HAVE IS LEMONS

by Bill Slavin

Are you keeping a journal during the pandemic? Are you writing down your thoughts about your reaction to each week's news? Are you taking a moment to write one sentence of gratitude?

Years ago the advice to write one gratitude sentence daily grated on me. I thought it belonged with all the other cheery, shallow suggestions found in self-improvement books or magazines. Ideas that didn't really get to the heart of any hurt you may be feeling. Then I tried it. I spent a year writing down one item each day, something that I was grateful for. Each entry was brief, not something that I had mulled over for long. The ideas were simple things: seeing a bird come to our feeder, the first new green of Spring, a cool breeze at night after a very hot day. During the year, I didn't notice any change in attitude from writing the sentences. It wasn't until the year was complete and I read all 365 sentences together that the impact of that small exercise revealed itself to me. I realized that the sentences had helped center me and opened my eyes to what effect the world had on me.

by Bill Slavin

During SIP and the daily political uproar, I find it hard to be grateful each day. I don't think about it much because I am too busy being busy with art and writing projects each day, and trying to tamp down any anxiety over the coming election and the need to be sequestered. Yet one thing stands out in my mind: our son Theo.

At the beginning of the SIP, Bill and I had ventured out a couple of times to the grocery store. Theo got upset with us for walking into a place with its high possibility of exposure to the virus. He told us to stop and now arrives each Tuesday with our groceries for the week. He has persisted even though he lives in San Francisco and we are out in one of the far-reaching suburbs of the East Bay. He comes masked and ready to stay at least 6 feet away at all times.

Eager for more of his company, we ask him to stay for lunch. Bill barbecues hamburgers or hot dogs. We set out condiments with individual spreaders, potato chips and drinks. Theo has hand sanitizer in his pocket and uses it before he approaches the table. Bill brings the BBQ over to the table and he and I move away so that Theo can prep his food. Theo then moves to a chair spaced away from us while we prep our food too. Then we eat and talk for a couple of hours, masks on except when we eat or drink. We hear of his life at home trying to make some progress with his band that isn't able to perform live, we listen to his opinions about politics, racism, global warming, and people not wearing masks. He suggests that the next house we live in should have only one story. He talks about his weekend with Rose, his long-time girlfriend and our favorite person next to him. We share our lives too, how little we do outside our house and the activities that keep us busy in our shelter-in-place. Eventually he collects his plates and as we move away, he stacks his dishes on top of ours, turns and waves as he leaves for the long drive back home.

He has taught us unconditional love again. I am grateful for him every day.

by Bill Slavin

BLOGGING DURING COVID

As my sixth anniversary of writing my blog, Postcards in the Air, drew closer, the world ceased to function normally. March 16, the date of the Shelter in Place order for the Bay Area, coincided with the starting date in 2014 of my first weekly blog posting.

During SIP, I began to notice patterns in writers the world over. Each week as I sat down to write my blog, I would try to find something that related to the pandemic as well as to my main topic of art and nature. So often after I finished my post, I would find an article or essay about the same topic, for instance, walking and observing more of nature, decluttering, and the emptiness of urban places. Just like me, writers expressed themes that SIP brought to their attention during each week. I marveled how so often my thoughts matched other writers.

In March, I wrote about how being an introvert made sequestering so much easier. I wrote about staying in place because I catch colds easily. I wrote about a squirrel building a nest, oblivious to the pandemic, and how all of nature ignored our travails. I wrote about first responders and neighbors who came forward with help. I wrote about how our society has forgotten the value of the common good. Each week a different topic for me came to my fingers. Each week after I had written my post, I would find articles by other writers on the same spectrum of thought.

In April I pointed out how so many of us were tackling projects that needed to be done, such as cleaning out closets and reassessing our values. Or we had given in to the stress of the pandemic and found ourselves not able to do much at all. I used calligraphy to prompt people to think about the words, Remember, I Wish, and Together. I showed my husband's photos of our walk around the now-empty San Ramon business park, where birds and ducks were flourishing, and humans had disappeared. I wrote about Earth Day and how the skies had cleared because of the lack of vehicles on the roads all over the world.

In May I wrote about the effects of the sun, how humans need the sun and how they are willing to break rules in order to be out at the beaches. During the month, I wrote about how everything mechanical was breaking in our house. Bill used his long-lost DIY skills, but some repairs needed experienced people. We worried about having other people in our home.

I wrote about an online class in making collages and how the practice of collage layering requires me to step back from the process and evaluate what I put down on paper. I came back to the wildlife that ventures into our yard each spring. We have deer with new fawn, squirrels and birds making our yard their home.

"There is no road. The road is made by walking."
Translation of lines from Antonio Machado's poem, "Caminante no hay Camino"

And then George Floyd was murdered, and the world changed again. I asked myself if this was the time to write a blog about art and nature. I found myself delving into organizations that provide activism for change and support for issues that Floyd's death brought back to our country. I found books to read and reminders that I needed to continue to be active, to stand up for rights, and to test my own prejudices and beliefs. Every essay that I read in the newspaper or online after I wrote mine had similar thoughts and calls for action.

Bill's list of books to read plus the NYT podcast "1619"

Even five months into the pandemic, I was still not ready to return completely to my regular themes. I published an article about a small project that involves making art to express more awareness of the cost of deaths by gun violence. The Soul Box Project (SBP) collects origami boxes with the name of a person who has died from suicide, domestic violence, random or gang-related shootings, or from mass shootings. The project leaders are based in Portland and have exhibited as many as 15,000 boxes at the Multnomah Arts Center and at the Cerimon House in Portland, as well as the Oregon State Capital. In April 2021 the SBP plans to bring 200,000 boxes to the National Mall in Washington, D.C. The boxes remind me of the AIDS quilt project, which illustrates the power of something that starts small and grows in significance. Again, I felt the universal pull to this idea. Just after writing my blog, I received a notice from the Commonwealth Club that the AIDS quilt is coming back to San Francisco.

















My sense of collective consciousness with other writers seems to continue each week. A couple of weeks ago, I finished my post about artists as agitators and gave the Che Guevara poster as a prime example of artistic activism. I turned off my computer and went to watch KQED, whose Canvas series that evening focused on artists across the country making art to express their reactions to both the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement.

I think of myself as an independent person, thinking my own thoughts and writing them down as they come. It's only during a country-wide or world-wide event that I realize how close we all are in thought, how connected we all are to each other.




I am showing this week some of the artwork that I conceived while Sheltering in Place. This time period has been beneficial for creating whether I am doing calligraphy, collaging, or watercolor. Other people find the time to be constructive too.

Check out the latest article about crafting by Elizabeth Fishel in Medium.
https://medium.com/@erfishel/stitching-through-covid-19-98edf216f63c

DIFFERENT KIND OF TREE

by Martha Slavin

On the dining room wall of the home of my Aunt Alice and Uncle Finn hung my aunt's family tree, beautifully drawn using blues and greens, her favorite colors. Within the image of the tree, each name was carefully written. Alice married into a family with seven brothers and sisters. Perhaps the tree was her way to remind people that she had a family to remember too.

Many of my relatives on my dad's side developed an interest in their connections to Scandinavia. Several cousins delved into genealogy, gleaning old photographs and lists of ancestors. From one list, with names dating back to 1625, I decided to construct an ancestral tree for Clara Thorson, my paternal grandmother. I purchased a half-of-a-pie-shaped chart that covered a 20" by 30" piece of vellum. The chart was divided to indicate paternal and maternal origins. At the center of the half-circle, I could write the names of my grandmother Clara and grandfather Peter Heimdahl.

As I was posting the names of my grandmother's ancestors in pencil, I realized the impossibility of the task I had set out for myself. First, the sections were too small to write names, birth and death dates clearly or as beautifully as my original inspiration. I had to have a very sharp pencil to squeeze just the names into each space. Secondly, because the sections were so small, I made a mistake and used the while chart to write my grandmother's ancestors. Some of the names, such as Sigrei Guttormsdatter, Ambjorg Bjornsdatter, and Tolleiv Gjerdingadn Thorson, were long and hardly fit in the spaces. There was no room left for my paternal grandfather's family. At the time, I had no or little information about his family or my mother's side either.

Looking at the chart made me realize how many people it took to make me. Studying the names also made me wonder more about the people in the chart. What would a medical chart look like? Where did I get my nearsightedness or brown eyes? What did people do for a living and what did people die from?

Since they were ordinary people, I have few stories about those beyond my grandparents. I knew that there were two farms in Norway that belonged to the Thorsons and Heimdahls (original name Olson). My grandmother's father came to Minnesota, married another Norwegian immigrant, and became a farmer outside of Willmar. My grandfather and his brother came to the United States because as younger brothers they would not inherit their family's farm. They changed their name from Olson to Heimdahl because there were so many Olsons already in America. The brother continued on to Washington. My grandfather settled in Willmar, Minnesota, and eventually became the local tax accessor. Both families, the Thorsons and the Heimdahls, came originally from the district of Hallingdal, though they didn't know each other in Norway.

Elevated grain storage to keep rats out -- Hallingdal Outdoor Museum

I think of the tale we heard at an outdoor museum tour of farm buildings near Nesbyen, the town my grandfather came from in Norway. During the plague in the early 1300s, a father locked his daughter in a grain storeroom to keep her safe. She was the only one in her village to survive.

I think of our tour guide in Norway whose father was part of the resistance in WWII.

I think of my own great grandfather who walked from New York to Minnesota to settle there. Each of those people had life stories, which could be expanded from the one sentence on this page.

My aunts and uncles loved to tell stories and would regale us on summer evenings with tales of bringing in the harvest, swimming in the lakes, and catching rides on skis while holding on to the back of a local farmer's wagon.

by Ralph C. Heimdahl

 I remember hearing about the antics of Charlie Arnie who lived on the farm of one of my relatives and who has a street by the farm named after him. I remember hearing stories of my great grandparents, but the details for all of these stories are long gone from my memory. Stories that don't get written down, don't survive.

*******

Another box load of boxes for the Soul Box Project.

Check out the Soul Box Project, a project to honor victims of gun violence:

https://soulboxproject.org