Twelve and Seven

This was us seven years ago at City Hall, on the fifth anniversary of our first date. It was the day we got married! It was such a good day, as you can see on our faces.

(Also, notice the stick sculptures in the trees above our bright, shining, rested, smooth faces? That's a glimpse of an art installation made of willow branches, called "The Upper Crust," by Patrick Dougherty.)

The last seven years have brought a lot of change, most of it thanks to becoming a family of three. Our current life bears no reasonable resemblance to our carefree existence of seven to twelve years ago. I mean, there was actually a time when we were decent resources for on-a-whim travel, amazing restaurants, and movie recommendations because we traveled lots of places (sometimes on a whim!), ate at terrific new restaurants regularly, and saw lots of movies whenever we pleased.

Now? You'd need a macro lens to see what we've been up to, other than bringing up a child. If I let you zoom-in, you'd notice, in addition to some new fine lines, lots of challenging, internal work we've done separately and together. You'd also see how we've shared some amazing, terrible, and solidly in-between times along the way. You'd be impressed at what we've learned, shocked at what we haven't, and unable to stop laughing at how we continue to step in it. I'm grateful every single day to have a partner who loves me to distraction. And being in a relationship that demands, in the best ways possible, that we each support the other person's growth? You can't beat it.

The traditional gift for the seventh year of marriage is wool. And if I had bothered to learn that fact sooner than the night before our anniversary, I could have done something really terrific with that knowledge. Instead, I kicked myself and proceeded to look at dessert recipes. I made chocolate pie, and we happily shared it with friends who unexpectedly dropped by around dinner time. I used this recipe, along with the gluten-free frozen pie crust from Whole Foods. And if you don't have pie crust? It's great just as pudding. Breakfast pudding even. Don't ask how I know.

Also, I have good news: We got a mini wine fridge. This means we can get back to making cheese. We have been on hiatus because after the washed rind cheese, I finally admitted we did not have the temperature control we needed to get good, reliable aged cheese results. After much discussion and shopping, we finally bought a not-too-fancy cheese (wine) fridge with the money we got from selling Wyatt's old stroller. So far, we feel like this was a win for all three of us. Wyatt and I started an aged goat cheese. Maybe the third time trying this recipe will be the charm. It should go in the cave tomorrow. (Tasting video to follow, maybe.)

Inspired By

Happy Valentine's Day from this little mouse (and me).

My inspiration levels have not been overflowing lately. Shocking, I know. I have had only just enough spark to take someone else's work and riff on it.

This hat is a good example. I loved Bristol Ivy's Peace de Resistance Mittens pattern, but I hardly ever wear mittens. Hats, on the other hand, I wear all the time. So, I turned the mitten pattern into a hat.

I finished the hat on Sunday, and I have posted my project notes on Ravelry in case you would also like to make a hat like this one. I like mine so much I almost slept in it Sunday night.

I then turned to knitting a gift for Wyatt for Valentine's Day. For the last two years, I have knitted him a little Valentine's present. The first year was a red heart pillow (that I scented with lavender flowers and is now worn and pilled from love) and the second year was a bouquet of lavender flowers (that sit on his nightstand).

Last week, Wyatt reminded me that Valentine's Day was coming and asked if I had already started working on his present. (I do love how there is no chance my child will wait and wonder whether I will meet his expectation for a present. I mean, why hope quietly, count on mind reading, and risk disappointment when you can SPECIFICALLY ASK?) I hadn't, so I looked through Hansi Singh's book of Amigurumi Knits, and I opted to make him a banana slug, inspired by the snail in her book, the endless amount of rain we have been getting this winter, and my lack of lovely yarn for a shell. But, the problem was three-quarters of the way through the body, the slug looked a lot like a gangrenous-colored peen warmer (as my friend Sarah correctly observed).

So Monday afternoon, I bought the pattern I had found last week before I talked myself into making that stripped-down snail. I knitted furiously from when Wyatt went to bed until the wee hours of Valentine's Day morning, knitting, embroidering, and assembling a Valentine's Mouse. The mouse is adorable, and way more time-consuming than I had anticipated.

And for dinner? Inspiration has been lagging a bit there, too. We had lots of soup last week. But this Saturday, after another afternoon volunteering at the Presidio Nursery (weeding this week!), I tried making Cabbage Pad Thai for the first time. I know, I know. The rallying cries of "Zucchini noodles!" or "Cauliflower rice!" followed by, "You won't even notice the difference!" is utter nonsense. Of COURSE you will notice a difference. If you don't, you're not paying enough attention to your food. The question should be whether you like the substitution, not whether there's a difference. Sometimes I like the swap, and sometimes I don't. Same goes for Wyatt. He actually scowled when I said it was Pad Thai made with cabbage, and said, "WHAT? NO NOODLES?" And he wasn't wrong--we all really do love cabbage in many forms, but cabbage is not noodles. So I made the recipe as written but added a two bricks of brown rice noodles I had just pre-cooked (mixed them in with the cabbage at the end). We also added a sprinkle of mung bean sprouts, too. We had just enough for the three of us for dinner.

We Are Pot Scrubbers

Volunteering is so glamorous, isn't it? But as Wyatt remarked once we had finished our shift at the Presidio Nursery on Saturday afternoon, "That was WAY more fun than I thought it would be. I can't wait to go back!"

And we will go back. This was our first family foray into "Volunteering for the Environment." "The Environment" is an (admittedly broad) area we have identified as a way our little family can work together to better our community. And as everyone knows, when we help in our communities all that good work adds up, and it helps our our state, and then our country (assuming California doesn't secede), and also the planet. Yes, we have lofty goals! And we are working towards them.

We arrived at the Presidio Nursery a little bit late for the 1pm start on Saturday, but our leader, Desmond, set us up with our own pot scrubbing station in no time. The three of us (and a bunch of other people) had dish scrubbers that we used to dry scrub the dirt off seedling pots. There were other people who washed the pots with soap, others rinsed them, and still others assembled the pots into racks. The assemblers got to use a mallet, so that was obviously the best job. In addition to the pot scrubbers, there were groups that were washing seeds and maybe also sorting seeds. Honestly, I don't remember for sure, though, because once we heard those jobs were very detail oriented and required patience, we were relieved to have been pegged as "Pot Scrubbers" from the beginning.

Around 2:30, we had a snack break in the Habitarium. The Nursery provided the snacks, because they are classy like that.

After snack? Back to work. This time with the boom box in our palace of pots where many of us did our best pot-scrub-dance-lip-sync routines. It wasn't long before one of the teenagers who was working in the assembly station asked Wyatt if he wanted to use the mallet on the pots once he had them set and ready to go. Wyatt literally jumped at the chance.

We even got volunteer pins when we were finished. Like I said, classy.

If you're in the Bay Area and interested in volunteer opportunities with the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy, here's a great summary of what opportunities are available when, and how to sign-up in advance to bring a group larger than four people.

And if after a busy day, you, like Wyatt, need more potatoes and olive oil in your life, try this incredible recipe by Penelope Casas for Tortilla Española. I've tried several recipes for this dish, and this is by far the best one. And I'll admit that it may sound fiddly to separate each slice of potato before cooking, but just do it. It's so worth it.

When I make this recipe, I use a 10" skillet (we'd be lost without the leftovers), so I need more of everything. I usually use about 5 medium-large Yukon Gold potatoes, a giant yellow onion, and 8 large eggs. I also use not too fancy olive oil. The rest of the recipe remains the same. That is, it remains the same except when it doesn't. This weekend, I couldn't be bothered to flip the omelet. Instead, after the edges of the omelet had begun to set, I put the cast-iron pan into a preheated 350 degree oven and baked it until it was just firm (about 20 minutes). Slightly less beautifully golden on both sides, but equally delicious.

The Year of the Cock

Here's a song I think you might love: "I'm Gonna Walk It With You."

Could Brian Claflin and Ellie Grace's song be more beautiful, uplifting, inspiring, or on point? I don't think so. It's exactly the kind of song I need playing in my head right now, and it truly warms my heart to feel the kindness and strength of character behind it. Maynard Moose may have sparked my affection for the Claflin-Darrigrand family decades ago, but my appreciation for them and their work is still growing.

Wyatt and I listened to this song at least a dozen times today. Part way through dinner, he hummed and sang, "I will face the man in the tallest tower..." but then he stopped. "Who's the man in the tallest tower? A king?" "Maybe," I said. "It could be anyone who's directing things or making rules from somewhere so high, you can't reach." "Ah. Like a king. Mom. Can we listen to that thing we listened to over there on that sofa, that thing where all the voices told the story about the King in England who burned houses and threw people into the water? Does that story only happen at a certain time of year? Or can we hear it now? You know the one I mean, right?" No. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And I was shocked by my obvious lack of judgment. But after some further questioning, I realized he meant NPR's reading of the Declaration of Independence. The 2016 reading is here. We listened again tonight, and I caught myself holding my breath several times.

How did you spend your weekend? I spent a lot of it outraged, sad, and reading news reports and social media posts as the events around the Muslim Ban began to unfold. On Sunday, though, we celebrated with friends and strangers at the Asian Art Museum, ushering in The Year of the Rooster (or Cock, if you prefer!) with crafts, art, stunning student performances, and Chinese traditions. 

Over the past week, I have been consuming way more news than salad, and that balance needs to change. We made a stunning seasonal salad on Saturday night: Spinach with pomegranate seeds and blood oranges, tossed with a balsamic vinaigrette. For the vinaigrette, I used the usual 1 tablespoon vinegar and 3 tablespoons olive oil, salt, and also added about a 1/4 teaspoon of tarragon mustard. Wyatt and Marc were tasked with pomegranate seed removal. To get them started, I quartered the fruit by cutting out the flower-end of the pomegranate with a paring knife, inserting my thumbs, and then prying the fruit into four pieces. We also had a swoon-worthy Creamy Tomato-Fennel Soup, thanks to Catherine Newman's recipe. 

Let's look out for one another as we move into another week.

(Resist, resist, resist! Donate, support, speak-up, and connect. Rinse and repeat.)

Rising Up

Last Friday afternoon, despite my deep dismay at the inauguration, I was feeling pretty okay. I had been successfully avoiding media coverage, and I was few minutes ahead of schedule in rainy weather heading to school to pick Wyatt and his friend up at school. That feeling vanished while I waited at a stoplight, heard a crash behind me, and then a split-second later, heard and felt another thudding jolt to the back of my car. I yelled, thumped the steering wheel, and then called Wyatt's school to let them know I'd be late for pick-up.

The three of us drivers were rattled, but unhurt. I had steeled myself for unpleasantness with the rear-enders, but I needn't have bothered. This was probably the most kind and pleasant car accident anyone could ever experience. The only vaguely angry interaction in the entire situation was a grumpy driver who shook his fist out the window and told us that the van driver who had started everything REALLY should turn his hazard lights on. But not even he uttered an expletive. The van driver, who was quivering, apologized profusely for confusing his accelerator with his brake. The poor woman in the middle looked at him, unable to steady her own hands, and said generously, "Well, accidents happen. Let's exchange information." Pretty much all that was left for me to do was to empathize and compliment these two drivers' legitimately attractive license photos, so I did. While we were standing by our cars snapping photos of each others' documents (remember when you had to carry a pen and paper for such things?), one guy came out of a cafe, into the rain and without a jacket or umbrella, to make sure we were all okay. Shopkeepers shouted to us to make sure no one was hurt. And all the passers-by on foot stopped to say how sorry they were that the accident had happened. I blame the inauguration for the van driver's pedal confusion. And while car repair is a giant pain, I am so grateful to know I live in a city that was ready to be so incredibly kind on Friday, January 20, 2017.

And then? Saturday was a busy day: art, hair appointments, and the Women's March rally.

For months, I have had on our calendar the opening of the Recology Art Exhibition. I was so excited to go, and it was even better than I had imagined it would be. "Make Art, Not Landfill," as the t-shirts I bought for us say, doesn't even begin to convey the astounding effort and astonishing artwork the three artists created during their 4-month residencies.

Jinmei Chi's Dizz Mall experience, complete with mall music playing and a sales circular (my copy of which I told her I couldn't possibly give back because it is just so good), was so captivating that Wyatt insisted we go back so he could ask her if he could buy one of her products. She kindly told him that she wasn't permitted to sell anything, but she was glad to know how much the show had affected him.

Ramekon O'Arwisters connected with every single person who wanted to participate in his crochet jam, or talk about his art, or ask him questions about himself or his process. As he explained to Wyatt while teaching him to crochet in about two minutes, "It's not complicated, just unfamiliar." And yes, I've been repeating that inspired saying to myself several times a day ever since. Ramekon talked about how his current art projects invite participation, how there are no rules, and how important those aspects are to art. He also mentioned that the shards of pottery in his sculptures are sharp, just like us, until we start to rub up against each other.

Anja Ulfeldt's kinetic sculptures had a "magical attic" feel to them. Air and sound brought everything to life. I was so pleased to tell her how much we had loved her work at the Museum of Craft and Design.  She told me the most challenging and best part of this show was not being able to plan anything when she started. You just have to see and collect what you find in the dump, and go from there.

That afternoon, Marc, Wyatt and I made our way downtown with our homemade signs and rain gear. Traffic was basically at a standstill, partly in anticipation of the Women's March, and partly because of the annual anti-abortion march that took place earlier in the afternoon. Once coiffed, we walked to Civic Center, with our friend (and supremely talented stylist), Susan, to participate in the rally. I have never been in such a large crowd before, and people were as energized as they were kind. It was a wonderfully inspiring and encouraging warm-up for more activism. (If you're looking for a bite-sized, easy, organized way to take action daily, I encourage you to sign up with Daily Action for their text alerts).

In other more mundane news, we are still eating dinner! You probably are, too. A new recipe I tried this week is for Spaghetti Squash Casserole. As my aunt promised me, it's terrific. And this endorsement is coming from me, a person who finds spaghetti squash decidedly unappealing because of it's tendency to be watery and/or prepared with spices that remind me of dessert. I made two versions of the casserole, one with mushrooms and one with mushrooms and ground buffalo (because, weirdly, I had that and not ground beef in the fridge). All three of us loved it. The recipe took longer than most weeknight dinners to prepare, but we ate it for three days as leftovers, and good leftovers are basically like a mini-vacation, so to me that's winning.

My changes to the recipe were: make two casseroles in two glass pie dishes, sautée about a pound of sliced mushrooms, use a whole jar of Rao's Basil Marinara sauce plus the crushed tomatoes (we needed more sauce), skip the stevia and chicken broth (because WHY would you use those), and put an extra layer of mozzarella in the middle of the casserole (mostly because the name of the recipe's website made me feel contrary). Also? Dry that spaghetti squash as much as you can. I literally squeezed it in my hands (although twisting it in cheese cloth would have worked great, come to think of it) to extract as much of the water as I could. It was worth the effort.

Less Talk, More Action

"Mom. So you know how Martin Luther King Jr. was killed? That's bad. But that's only half of it. The other half it's so bad is because he was such a good person and doing such important work."

I just re-read Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. His call to action and reminder that tension is necessary for progress towards justice and equality are just as relevant and important than ever. Wyatt, for his part, has been studying the pictures and illustrations in I am Martin Luther King, Jr. since Saturday, when it arrived from his grandparents.  We have read the book to him many times already, but there is still more to learn from studying the illustrations and the photos. He remains astounded by the images of the throngs of people who gathered to hear Dr. King speak ("Look! Those are people! I thought it was a field of flowers!") as well as the images of the people marching.

Today was our beach clean-up day. Wyatt, his flamingo hat, and I went with some friends from school, and it was absolutely terrific. To start, our friends had us over to their house for a delicious (second) breakfast before we got started. And then, even though all five of us volunteers would all have been perfectly happy to just pick up trash with our own gloves and call it a Great Day, we got so much more. The Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy is such a class act. They provided buckets, gloves, kids activity books, pencils, and the opportunity for the youngest volunteers to be sworn in as a Junior Ranger at the end of the project. They were more than ready for all 267 of us registered volunteers.

I think we were all expecting there to be a lot of easy, obvious trash to pick up, but there wasn't. In fact, at first glance, the beach looked pretty clean. But once we started focusing more closely, hunting for trash like you would seashells, we found lots of shards of sharp glass, plastic straws, bits of colored plastic, dental floss, paper, Lego pieces, plastic toys, bits of plastic bags, and a syringe. Fortunately there was no needle attached to the syringe, because one of the kids proudly presented it in her fist as a "Great piece of trash that does not belong on the beach!" As her mother and I suddenly realized, the Ranger's warning not to pick up dog poop or dead birds meant something (and probably wasn't even necessary--that stuff's gross). But "Don't pick up hypodermic syringes or needles!" might as well have been "Don't pick up fitzwooshles or tizzywhats!" If you have no idea what they are, and you're five, you might incorrectly conclude there's no way you could find any.

By the end of the project, the children had answered the necessary questions in their activity books, and Ranger Maria was ready to check their work, administer the Junior Ranger Pledge, and give them their badge.

"I promise to help take care of the beaches I visit including the Golden Gate National Parks. I also promise to continue to explore, learn about, and protect the natural world wherever I go,"

Thanks to the pledge, charming Petey the Golden Plover who stars in the activity book, and all the bits of plastic and straws we found, Wyatt has renewed interest in minimizing plastic waste. If we ever needed proof that action makes a difference, we have it now.

But wait, there's more! I have been all talk lately about how I want us to make dinner together on the weekend. I have been grumbling, whining, and announcing this wish for months; but until this weekend, I had no plan to put my wish into action. The key, as it turned out, was to make a simple plan for a meal where everyone could do something and I didn't have to orchestrate much. We made Mark Bittman's super easy and great Salmon Roasted in Butter, the most delicious recipe for Baby Bok Choy I've ever found, and Wyatt made his specialty: fried potatoes. He uses a crinkle cutter to get them the right size and shape and then shallow-fries them in avocado oil. Once ready, he rains a sprinkle of Kosher salt down on them, and we gobble them up.

All Over the Place

"I love you so much. You are my best friend! Mom. Do you know why I love this SO much? It cooks THE BEST FOOD. Don't you wish it were also a robot? A Robot Instant Pot. Then it could do ALL THE COOKING BY ITSELF."

YES to the Robot Instant Pot. A thousand times, YES.

I'm still getting the hang of this multi-purpose-miracle appliance. There is a learning curve.

The first thing I cooked was risotto from an Instant Pot Cookbook. It was great, although, maybe a tiny bit overdone. Second was a whole chicken. Major failure. Do not make the mistake I did of reading a (free online) recipe and thinking, "Huh. That's weird. No water in this pressure cooker recipe?" and then making the recipe anyway. Just as I had thought, the pressure cooker never sealed, and then I had to trouble-shoot cooking the vaguely steamed bird from there. In short, UGH. Third, I cooked chicken broth, and that went terrifically well, but no one in my family cares about broth other than me. Fourth up was Rancho Gordo Mayocoba Beans, and the beans did not turn out well at all--15 minutes under pressure left them 1/3 cooked, and an additional 5 minutes turned them to mush. Good thing there is no better refried bean than a Mayocoba. I am currently welcoming all helpful tips on pressure cooking or slow cooking beans. Please leave your suggestions in the comments.

The recipe that had Wyatt swooning was Lemongrass + Coconut Chicken (with Cauliflower Rice). It's terrific. And it reheats like a dream in the oven. We ate it for dinner several nights in a row last week, by candlelight. So after you make the recipe I gave you last week, if you have a pressure cooker, try this one.

A meaty dinner by candlelight--no other lights, so yes, it's pretty dark dining in the winter--is the best way to cheer a grumpy, sad Wyatt when Marc isn't able to make it home in time for dinner. It makes dinner look a little different, and when you're finished eating, you can make shadow animals on the walls and talk about how "dad does them the best of all."

And Marc? He got lots of refried beans in the kitchen for dinner last week. I'm all over the place as I (and we) integrate new work routines and get back to usual life ones. And let me say that there's nothing like starting a teeny-tiny weekday morning meditation practice, where instead of feeling serenity and calm, you find you're as together as a handful of confetti someone just tossed into the wind. For example, this morning, as I sat for a minute after lighting our beeswax dinner candle (teeny-tiny practice, I tell you), I realized that last night, I never baked the bread that had been rising all day. So I baked it (slightly deflated) this morning before we left for school, but of course I managed to bake it at the wrong temperature the whole time. Poor little loaf of bread. It never had a prayer. And neither did the rest of the stuff I've already completely blown today.

In other news, I finally filmed, edited, and published two knitting tutorial videos for my Tiny Bubbles Beanie pattern. If you've been thinking you want to knit that hat, but are feeling a little tentative, hoping for some support or instruction, you can now watch my hands knit it whenever you want.

Finally, and most importantly, next Monday is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Have you chosen a service project yet? Either way, read Jelani Cobb's terrific and important piece about the holiday. It will put you in the right frame of mind to work in support of Dr. King's ideals this year, and in the coming years. If you're in the San Francisco Bay Area, you can sign-up here for an MLK Day Project with the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy.

Plunging into 2017

Happy New Year, team. I feel like 2017 will demand, among other things, my being alert and perpetually in an athletic stance. Good thing I love my sneakers.

And good thing we ate lots of black-eyed peas for New Year's Day. We can use all the luck we can get. Wyatt and I also ate bacon, because when you get right down to it, I'm a belt-and-suspenders type of person (who also likes bacon).

There's a lot to be said for starting the new year off with Conscious Intention and Healthy New Habits. If you pulled that off, good for you. We went the contrarian route. After sleeping in, Wyatt and I headed straight into the kitchen to try our hand at a new recipe for us: homemade Accara (West African black-eyed pea fritters) and Sosu Kaani sauce. I had made the sauce the day before, so it was fritter time. Wyatt was very helpful at removing all the skins from the black-eyed peas as we were preparing the batter. I am such a novice at deep-frying, but I did my best. And while the fritters were not as pretty as the ones Marc and I ate when we were in Accra, they tasted great.

After breakfast, I made a double-batch of Chocolate Zucchini Muffins to take to our friends' house for their New Year's open house. We spent part of the afternoon catching up with old friends and meeting new ones.

Once home again, I made my annual batch of Black-Eyed Pea Soup, this year I cooked the peas myself (so much tastier) and also added shredded kale leaves. We ate the soup with our new favorite Gluten-Free Sourdough Bread from the recipe in My Darling Lemon Thyme (sourdough starter generously gifted to me by Maja), and cheese, too, of course.

And while 2016 was a stinker of a year on so many levels, we closed it out really well around here. We had early Christmas fun and adventures with my parents, and then spent Christmas Day with dear friends who shared all kinds of amazing, delicious, and entertaining traditions with us. We also feel we won the Yankee Swap/White Elephant Gift Exchange.

Last week, we played tourists in our own city, and took a visit to Coit Tower and North Beach. The murals and view are breathtaking.

We then got shockingly good last-minute tickets to the matinee of Cirque du Soleil's New Year's Eve performance of Luzia. The show was fabulous. Neither Wyatt nor I had ever been to a Cirque du Soleil show, but Marc had been to several. I was so inspired by the athleticism and strength of all the performers, and I was sure Wyatt must have been, too, so I asked him, "Which of the performers would you have been?" He answered, "Remember the guy that was dressed as a cactus and wore the goggles for part of the time? Him." I pushed a little harder, "Not the super strong lifeguard guy? Or the trapeze artist? Or the birds flying through the hoops?" He responded firmly, "No. The cactus guy. With the goggles."

My friend, Sara, shared the following photos of the performance with me. I was too busy being awed to take any. Believe it or not, she didn't get a photo of the cactus-in-goggles. Go figure.

And after the show? We went to a NEW YEAR'S EVE DINNER PARTY. All three of us! I know. Amazing. And we ate dinner, hung out, toasted with champagne and were home by 8:30pm. It was basically perfection.

I wish everyone fortitude as we find our new and improved grooves and move into January. And before I forget, if you eat chicken, you need to drop everything and go make this recipe for Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken. Make it today, because it needs a day to marinate, and you don't want to wait even one day longer than you have to before eating this. It's one of the best things I have ever cooked, and Wyatt agrees.

Christmas Traditions

It has been nearly two whole days since anyone in our house has been suffering from some kind of illness! And hooray for health on Christmas Day, for lots of reasons, including breakfast.

We don't have a lot of Christmas traditions at our house, and the ones we do have are a little bit younger than Wyatt. But they are good.

One tradition is having latkes on Christmas Eve. I make them every year, and every year, I tell Wyatt about staying up into the wee-hours of the morning with Auntie Debbie, one of my best friends in the whole world, making what might have been hundreds of latkes for her Chanukah party. The fun we had cooking the latkes far outweighed the work (but maybe not the olive oil required). This year, I followed Smitten Kitchen's recipe, including suggested improvements. I subbed potato starch for flour, and I used the truly ingenious suggestion to use cheese cloth to squeeze the moisture out of the potatoes and onion. Wyatt, who became quite capable with the spatula, cooked more than half of the latkes this year.

Another tradition is having "Whatever We Want" for Christmas breakfast. This year, Wyatt knew he wanted ice cream but couldn't decide which flavor, and that meant that we couldn't decide on cookies, pie, or anything else to go with it. We remained stuck until last Wednesday, when we visited Toy Boat Dessert Cafe with dear friends who are moving away (sniff!). I ordered peppermint stick ice cream, and after Wyatt tried it, he announced, "NO FAIR. That's so much better than my mint chip." Suddenly, the choice for Christmas breakfast ice cream was clear. When cheesecake came up for some (divinely inspired) reason on Thursday, our menu was suddenly set.

I used David Lebovitz's recipe for vanilla ice cream (but omitted the vanilla extract and just removed the halved vanilla bean after 30 minutes). Thanks to the recommendation of my trainer, Doug (who's a force in the gym and in the kitchen), we made the ice cream peppermint stick flavor by adding 1/2 teaspoon of peppermint extract just before freezing, and by mixing in about 7 full-sized, crushed candy canes once the ice cream was nearly frozen. Wyatt got to use a mallet to smash the candy canes to bits. He got the best job, obviously.

For the cheesecake, I used the Nourishing Tradition's recipe as a jumping-off point. I made the cream cheese. I also totally pushed my luck on the proportions of ingredients, forgot an egg white, and I had to use the Vitamix for the whole recipe (thanks to the Cusinart blade recall). Nevertheless, the cheesecake turned out to be the best I've made yet. I added the remaining smashed candy canes to the center just before serving to make it look more festive.

On Christmas morning, we started the ice cream maker, opened all the presents, lit the candles on the dinner table, and enjoyed every bite of our ice cream-in-cones-with-cheesecake.

This Best Breakfast Ever set us up for a very merry Christmas, indeed.

Warm Wishes

I wish you a splendid holiday season, full of love, kindness, and laughter.

And I hope you will enjoy a delicious Christmas breakfast of whatever you want. We're still working on our menu, and I'll be back next week with the full report.

Glitter Glue for Refugees

People, look east. The time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the guest, is on the way.

So goes the first verse of the Christmas carol, "People, Look East," by Eleanor Farjeon. According to my research, Ms. Farjeon wrote this piece in 1928. Even though I have a lot of Christmases under my belt (many of them church Christmases, even), I don't remember hearing this particular carol before. This year, though, it's Wyatt's theme song, and he sings it under his breath, or at full volume, off and on most of the day. Occasionally, he also belts-out some bastardization of "Jingle Bells," or imitates that classically grating Christmas song by Alvin and the Chipmunks about one of them wanting a hula hoop.

Usually, this time of year, our friend Suzanne emails us and others of her friends and customers to say when she and her business partner, Peter, will be collecting clothing, blankets, and other goods for homeless people around San Francisco. We always bring over what we can, and we relish our visit at their custom shoe making shop. Last year, we saw Peter's diorama of Bethlehem, made from leather scraps, found objects, glue, and glow-in-the-dark paint. We also met Joe, a photographer in the neighborhood. Joe, after learning I'm a knitter, gave me a glass head he wasn't using anymore. The head is the perfect size for hats, looks great on a bookshelf, and it allows me to scrutinize my designs from all angles. We see Joe frequently around town, often walking his beautiful dog. We also got to visit him during Open Studios this year, and now we own two of his wonderful prints.

Suzanne's holiday giving email arrived the other day. This year, because of the looming Trump administration, she has shifted her focus slightly. She has volunteered through the International Rescue Committee to sponsor a refugee family who will arrive in the Bay Area later this month. The family will likely be from Afghanistan, Iraq, or Syria. She invited all of us to participate in supporting the family; we are awfully excited to help.

Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there:
Give up your strength the seed to nourish,
That in course the flower may flourish.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the rose, is on the way.

"Wyatt. Remember the last couple of years when we dropped off blankets and toothbrushes for homeless people at Suzanne and Peter's? This year, we're dropping off gift cards and probably some toys or maybe art supplies for children. There's a family that's moving here from very far away. And they have almost nothing with them!"

"Are they homeless? Why don't they have anything with them?"

"I suppose they are homeless. They had to leave their home, and they've been traveling a lot, waiting to find out where they will live next and have a home for good. They're going to come to the United States and they'll fly here in a couple of weeks. They'll need to buy everything—clothes, pots, pans, silverware, plates, toilet paper—everything. So we're going to go to Target next week to get them a gift card so they can buy things they need, and we'll also get some presents for the kids. We can look for presents for the kids after you visit Santa today."

"But how old are the kids? How do we know what they like? Maybe we can get them a gift card, too, so they can choose toys."

"We could, but I was thinking that if we found good stuff, we should just get it for them. When grown-ups go shopping and need all sorts of really practical things for the family, like toilet paper, towels, clothes, and a rice cooker, there might not be enough money left over for toys."

"Mmmm. You're right. Should we get them art supplies? I think they definitely need glitter glue."

 Stars, keep the watch. When night is dim
One more light the bowl shall brim,
Shining beyond the frosty weather,
Bright as sun and moon together.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the star, is on the way.

This Saturday, it was pouring rain, and Santa was scheduled to be at Just For Fun on 24th Street for a couple of hours. Wyatt has met Santa there every year for the past three years, and unlike at other stores, Santa looks exactly the same year after year. Right beard, right suit AND same face.

Because we are loathe to mess with tradition or perfection, Marc, Wyatt and I put on our full rain gear and slip-slopped in puddles and rain up to the shop. Along the way, we cleared storm drains that were clogged with leaves and litter, and Wyatt identified all the olive and ginkgo trees without any help from me.

Thanks to the rain, there was no line for Santa. Wyatt stepped right up, made his request, and then we set about our remaining task: choosing gifts for the children who are moving from so very far away. Fortunately, Just For Fun had glitter glue, scotch tape, and more. Even better, everything we bought fits into a tidy box with a snap-on lid. As Wyatt remarked, "They need a box, too. You can't just leave your art supplies lying around, you know."

Dude.

"Dude" is such a versatile word. Sure, it's really casual and not particularly respectful, but I love it. It is one of the few words in the English language where you can apply many different intonations and get an equal number of different meanings.

"Dude" even works beautifully without voice intonation, like in texts, as my friend Sarah proved this week. She texted me, "Dude," followed by a photo of her poor son, Benjamin, who was sitting as close as possible to the toilet, resting his head on the seat. "Dude" says it all, including the sarcastic, "Thanks, barfing flu," the frantic, "I know I should really seriously avoid using bleach on everything, but here I go anyway," the weary, "How long will this last?" and the empathetic, "My poor, sick, sad child."

It's December, or The First Month When Everyone Gets Sick, and after hearing from Sarah (they're across the country from us, but that fact matters little to a worrier of my caliber), I've been annoying my family even more than usual by reminding them to really wash their hands, like for at least the entire recommended 20 seconds ("Sing the alphabet, but slowly!" Or, "Sing 'Happy Birthday' twice!"). But some version of the barfing flu squiggled into our home anyway. Wyatt woke upon Sunday yelling for me and saying with a quiver in his voice and chin that his stomach felt "oogie." Of course it did. Sunday was his school's Winter Fair, the one-day, super fun, winter holiday fairyland extravaganza that everyone, including him, looks forward to all year. Woe. It was not to be this year. Marc went to the fair to handle his shift for the little passenger train that would carry children up and down the road, and I stayed home with Wyatt. I texted Sarah, "Dude," followed by a photo of Wyatt in a similar pose to Benjamin on Thursday. She welcomed me to the Galactic Wormhole of Doom and Sh*ttiness ("GWODAS"), and I thanked her for her hospitality.

Over the course of the next several hours, I sat on the bathroom floor and read the rest of Laura Ingalls Wilder's On the Banks of Plum Creek to Wyatt. The end of Plum Creek really puts the GWODAS of a short-lived barfing flu (he perked-up before noon) in a modern home into perspective. I seriously cannot imagine living the last hundred pages of that book (or really any of it, but especially the end). The endless swarms of noisily munching grasshoppers who blocked out the sun and ate all the crops two years in a row, Pa's having to walk 600 miles round-trip (once in holey boots) so he could earn some money before winter, twice-weekly blizzards that would easily blind you, swallow you up and freeze you and your children to death, fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds that jumped over trenches to burn your house down, and don't forget all the regular work of being a farmer and homesteader. The whole scenario is its own, special kind of uber-GWODAS, and I am a spoiled whiner by comparison.

Comparisons aside, however, the truth remains that community improves whatever GWODAS we find ourselves in. Mr. Nelson helped beat back the fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds to save the the Ingalls' house from burning to the ground; Sarah helped me keep my perspective and sense of humor while I was wedged into the corner on the floor of the bathroom near my inconsolable child on Sunday morning.

Community matters, and friendships across many miles matter, too. This story about the Transcontinental Barfing Twins reminded me that I have not yet shared the most recent installment of our Craft Pals exchange (read about earlier exchanges here and here). It's awfully heartwarming.

At the end of September, our doorbell rang. The mail carrier had a package for Wyatt. It was from Benjamin, and Wyatt was so surprised and pleased he could hardly contain himself. Benjamin had sent Wyatt the most glorious set of homemade, handpainted story stones, all about a fishing adventure. There's a trout, a fishing pole, a mystery trout that got away, a worm on a hook, an island, a dock, a sailboat, a whale, the weather, an umbrella, a buck-toothed shark, assorted bait, another hook that the mystery trout ate the bait from and sneakily escaped, an octopus, and a jellyfish. This set has all the elements of so many epic adventures, and we have enjoyed many excellent stories thanks to these stones.

It took Wyatt and me awhile to figure out what to send Benjamin in return. We were thinking about it, and talking about it, but we were also working on the felted trivets all the time, so the weeks got away from us a little bit. Inspiration struck after our friend, Anne, gave Wyatt a National Parks Journal for writing and sketching. It's a great little book, and Wyatt has been working on drawing plants from our garden and things from his imagination ever since he received it. Wyatt thought Benjamin would enjoy a notebook, but not just any notebook. It needed to be special. I suggested we get an unlined blank notebook and decorate it somehow. Wyatt agreed, and he and I made a trip to SCRAP in San Francisco for inspiration and supplies.

SCRAP is a magical place. The flamingos at the top of this post greeted us outside, and after that, we explored pretty much every corner of the shop. We found everything we needed at SCRAP for the bargain price of $3.15. Everything, that is, except for the notebook (which we were particular about), and the yarn, glue sticks, googly eyes, and thread that I already had.

Wyatt decided he wanted to make a cat notebook. And he sketched this prototype.

We made the notebook by ironing the fabrics, cutting lightweight batting the same size as the cover, covering the batting-covered cover with fabric, and decorating the book like a cat. Sadly, our hot glue-gun didn't work well for sticking the fabrics together (because it's a low-temperature version, maybe?), so I did more stitching than I had anticipated, but that was fine. Wyatt finger-knitted the whiskers, tail, closure, and collar. He also chose the button, applied all the hot glue we could use, and held me to a high standard in terms of his art direction.

The hardest part about sending off this package was parting with the working kick-scooter key chain that Wyatt had found at SCRAP. He searched in endless bins there, but only found one (in contrast to the boxes and boxes of medals; he got himself a medal, too, because he "had always wanted one, and Benjamin probably had, too.")

Once the package had arrived, Sarah sent the best ever thank you video from Benjamin. It brought Wyatt the biggest, goofiest grin and giggle each time he watched it.

I know I've said it before, but I absolutely love this tangible exchange of thoughtfulness, care, and creativity.

I hope everyone reading this post enjoys a healthful December and beyond. But just in case that proves impossible, here's a recipe for pancakes that has proven delicious and easy on recovering stomachs in our house for the last couple of years. The recipe is courtesy of Sweetsmith in Adelaide, South Australia. Gluten-free, dairy-free, and refined-sugar free, these pancakes would also be good in times of good health.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rice flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2/3 cup rice milk (or nut milk)
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon of cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 grated apple

Directions:

Sift flour and baking powder. Mix with all other ingredients. Cook on a griddle (I use coconut oil on the griddle) and flip once they are golden brown on the first side. After both sides are golden brown, eat!

Thanksgiving Trivets (or Don't Make Everything Yourself)

As I basked in the afterglow of Thanksgiving this year, I thought back to last year and the 10-Hour Vegetarian Pot Pie (otherwise known as the Worst Thanksgiving Food Ever To Grace Our Table). This year's Thanksgiving couldn't have been more delicious, wonderful, or more different from any Thanksgiving Marc, Wyatt and I have had as a family. We were three out of sixteen guests at my cousins' home. Many of the guests were my relatives, but some were not, and all of them were interesting, kind, funny and great eaters. I loved eating the things I'm not good at cooking, including turkey, dressing, gravy, and pecan pie. I also loved eating the foods I thought I was really good at cooking, like mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, because, as it turns out, mine are not as good as theirs. I've never been so glad we brought bottles of wine, and I have already written a thank you note to our hosts. With any luck, we will become part of their Thanksgiving tradition for ever and ever amen.

Just like at the family reunion this year, I have no photos of our dinner or brunch gatherings. But I did get some photos of Patrick Amiot's outstanding junk art near the house where we stayed overnight. Marc also got some after dark.

One Thanksgiving lesson I'm taking with me as we launch headlong into the holiday season is: There's no reason for me to make (or do) everything myself. For example, other peoples' food might be better, it is more fun to do things with friends, and it's easy to improve on holiday traditions if we all bring more joy into the celebration.

This lesson applies equally to making gifts. Don't get me wrong—I love homemade gifts and I love making them for special people who will treasure them. But some handmade gifts are worth making myself, and some handmade gifts are worth buying. One item that is definitely worth buying is this beautiful trivet from Vilt Van Ver (Dutch for "Felt From Far"). You can purchase trivets, coasters, and other products from various retailers, including this one.  Vilt Van Ver's products are stunning, totally handmade, sustainable, and fair trade certified. The trivets are only $39, which is a screaming deal. How do I know? Keep reading.

When Wyatt and I went to the Museum of Craft and Design in August, I spotted a stack of Vilt Van Ver trivets in the (amazing) gift shop. Each was $40, and as Wyatt and I looked at one, we discussed the felted garland Benjamin had made for Wyatt, and we said, "We could TOTALLY make this." I also recall naively thinking that $40 was kind of steep for a felted-ball-trivet. (It isn't. Forty bucks is a steal.) So I took a photo of the trivet on the shelf, and we went home where I did some research about making felt balls. I also checked the Vilt Van Ver website for details, like dimensions and number of balls required. After learning each trivet requires 100 felt balls, I inexplicably decided we'd make two trivets, one for each of Wyatt's kindergarten teachers. After all, it was only August, and how long could 200 felt balls take? Ha.

We bought our first eight ounces of wool roving (for $40, or the retail price of a trivet, for anyone who's keeping track), and I figured out through trial and error that each ball would require two grams of roving. From there, a little math showed one trivet would require almost this entire eight-ounce bag of roving. So, I knew that eventually, we'd need more wool. I also started to wonder if the project would get the better of us. Each ball was taking about 15 minutes to felt. But I got faster. After about a zillion balls, I could hand-felt one two-gram ball of wool in about three-and-a-half minutes. Wyatt required about 30 minutes per ball; he was down to about 15 minutes by the bazillionth ball.

We bought eight more ounces of multi-colored wool roving (from a different retailer, this time for $20) about a month later. Most days through September and October, we rolled a few balls and then set them in a sunny window to dry. We made felt balls inside the house and out in the garden. Whenever there was a spare moment or couple of hours, we were felting balls. Fun fact: Even when a felt ball feels dry on the outside, it is still not dry! Mold dulled our earliest, vibrant, woolly balls, all because I left them together in a bowl, on top of each other, for a few days after they seemed dry. We soon started leaving the balls in one layer in a giant glass baking dishes because NOBODY wants moldy balls.

Once all the balls were made, we rejoiced for a week with the following call and response: "Guess what we don't have to do today?" "MAKE FELTED BALLS!" Even better, the cracks in my hands from all the felting in hot water and dish soap finally began to heal.

To make the trivets, we sorted the balls by color, and then strung each ball, one by one, onto upholstery thread, ten balls per thread. I then assembled the twenty strings of ten balls into two trivets. I pulled all the strings tight, had to restring a few, and I used a needle-felting tool to hide the knots on the ends of each of the strings.

The trivets turned out well. They are imperfectly beautiful, because even after felting so many balls, only the occasional ball turned out perfectly spherical and wrinkle-free. Wyatt's were often better than mine, but as grown woman with a sense of time and my own mortality, there was no way I was spending 30 minutes (or even 15 minutes) per ball.

We finished ahead of schedule, completing the trivets before Thanksgiving. The balls did not beat us, but it's only because I stubbornly refused to let them win. I am happy we completed the project. We made great gifts, and Wyatt and I experienced thanks to hours (and hours) of our own work and shriveled fingers, the value of skilled artisans who make beautiful things. Basically, Velt Van Ver deserves our business.

We decided to give the teachers their trivets on the Friday before Thanksgiving break. One reason for giving the gifts early was so that they could enjoy the trivets now and through the holiday season. Our other reasons are much less laudable, involving ego and pride. Making trivets out of 200 hand-felted balls was a bonkers (and enormous) undertaking. Those trivets (and we) needed our own day of gift-giving to shine.

How To Make A Paper Lantern

It's Thanksgiving week! In addition to pressing civic matters,* there are feasts to cook, family and friends to see, and centerpieces to make. If, like me, you're more of a just-in-time holiday decorator, these paper lanterns are perfect because there's still plenty of time to finish one, or even some, before Thursday.

And before you offer some excuse about not being "crafty enough," or being "too busy," let me assure you that this is a straightforward craft that requires very little time or particular skill, and yet it still provides a huge visual impact, especially after dusk. It would brighten your Thanksgiving hosts' table or your own.

I learned how to make these lanterns at the Parent Craft Circle at Wyatt's school last Wednesday. By Thursday, Wyatt and I had already made two more lanterns.  I love learning new things from inspiring people. Yoriko, the handwork teacher at Wyatt's school who facilitates the Craft Circle, is not only inspiring, she's infinitely knowledgeable, patient, clear, and she's one of those incredible listeners who hears not only the words you say, but also the words you choose not to say, and she responds with a rare depth of sensitivity and clarity. As you might imagine, Craft Circle with Yoriko is pretty terrific.

When I told Yoriko I was planning to write this how-to blog post for lanterns, she was enthusiastic about my spreading the lantern love, and she even sent me additional photos. Here is a photo of her own glowing lanterns (at least one of the lanterns is several years old, and when it is not lantern season, she unfolds it and stores it in her bookcase—how great is that?), as well as some of our paintings from the Craft Circle.

How To Make A Paper Lantern

Gather Your Supplies:

• Watercolor paper that's at least 15" on its shortest side (a 15" square yields a lantern that is approx. 6" from point to point; a 19" square yields a lantern that is approx. 8" from point to point).
• Watercolors
• Brushes
• Jar (or cup) with water for rinsing brushes
• Scissors
• Neutral cooking oil
• LED votive candle (a real votive is a real fire hazard in a paper lantern).

Make Your Painting:

Cut your watercolor paper into a square. (If you have a long rectangle left, like we did, you can paint the rectangle, too. Once dry, you can cut it into pieces to use as gift cards.)

Create a wet-in-wet watercolor painting. An easy way to paint wet-in-wet is to put your square of paper in a basin if you have one large enough, or in the bathtub or shower if you don't. As you paint with watercolors on the wet paper, the pigments will spread, bloom, and blend fluidly. The center of the painting will be the center of the lantern; don't bother trying to paint figures or anything in particular. Abstract clouds of color work well for this project.

Even very small children can participate in this part of the project—just choose colors that when they blend, you get a beautiful result (try red and yellow, or red and blue).

Let the painting dry.

Oil Your Painting:

Take a neutral cooking oil (like canola or some other vegetable oil) and with a paper towel or a rag, apply a thin layer of oil to the painted or unpainted side of the paper. The oil helps the paper to become translucent, and it also makes the paper easier to fold. We applied the oil twice, and after the second coat, the paper was translucent.

Wait to begin folding until the oil has soaked in and the paper feels dry.

Fold Your Lantern:

Most of the following steps are to create an octagon with guide-folds. The lantern itself takes shape in the last three steps. Yoriko explained that the folding of the lantern is a project that is best for about seventh grade level or above. I let Wyatt participate in the folding by having him crease the folds I made.

While your painting dries, you may want to practice folding the lantern by using a regular old 8.5" x 11" piece of paper that you turn into a 8.5" x 8.5" square. You'll have your technique perfected by the time your painting is ready to go.

Make the Octagon:

Fold the square along the diagonal:

Fold the triangle in half, point-to-point:

Unfold the paper—you will have four triangles.

Fold the square in half to make a rectangle:

Fold the rectangle in half to make a square:

Unfold the paper—you will have 8 triangular sections radiating from the center of the paper.

You need 16 triangular sections, so fold your square along one of the guide-folds to make a rectangle. Notice the triangles. Take the outside edge of a triangle, line it up with the next fold, and make a crease. Fold that bisected triangle towards the back. Repeat from the edge with the next triangle.

Open the paper—you will have 16 triangular sections radiating from the center of the paper:

Fold the paper along one of the guide-folds so that the four corners of the square stick out like this:

Take your scissors and cut-off the triangles that are sticking-out. You may want to fold the triangles first so you have a guide-fold to cut.

You now have an octagon.

Fold the octagon into a square:

Open up the folds, turn the paper 45 degrees, and fold another square like the one you just did. Open the flaps.

Fold the Lantern:

Look at the painted side of your paper, and find a "kite-shape." Fold the paper along the guide-folds you created so that you're tucking-in the edges around each of the kite shapes:

You'll end up with stack of 8 "kites":

Is this step hard to follow? You can check out a no-frills video of it here. Fold the top triangle of each of the 8 "kites" down:

Gently begin to open up your lantern. Smush the bottom so that it flattens out and the lantern can sit level. Add light and you're done!

There are lots of different ways to make this type of lantern, including according to this tutorial. Check it out and see which way makes the most sense to you.

* This week, I am calling my representatives to remind them, once again, how unacceptable I find the President Elect's appointment of racists and bigots; I am participating in Senator Paul Ryan's telephone survey to register my support for the imperfect-yet-necessary Affordable Care Act (Call (202) 225-0600, press 2 to weigh-in on the issue, listen to a couple of paragraphs of partisan commentary about the ACA, press 1 in support of the ACA, and leave a voicemail if you want); and I am gathering with some friends to plan how we will get more involved in our communities.

Stepping Up (and Snacks)

The election this week left me sad, angry, frustrated, and broken-hearted. Our president-elect is someone who has shown us through his words and actions that he is someone who believes people who are immigrants, minorities, disabled, Muslim, LGBTQ, female, or otherwise different, are not equal to him, should not be treated with respect, and should not be afforded the protections of our laws. He also thinks global warming isn't real. More than ever, those of us who value equality, tolerance, civil rights, the environment, and frankly, personal decency, need to act and lead by example from wherever we are.

I was inspired this past week by a post that author Catherine Newman wrote: "Service is the road to happiness...we can support the most vulnerable people in our communities, either in established ways—volunteering with organizations that serve youth and queers and the poor and the elderly and other people in need who need our time; involving ourselves in local politics and issues; donating money to local causes we believe in—or in creative ones." She went on to explain how her friend, Kate Schatz, delivered flowers to the Islamic Center of Alameda. I read Catherine's post while I waited for Wyatt to finish chasing the pigeons at the Ferry Building on Friday. I thought to myself, we could do that.

Before heading back to the muni station, I Googled Islamic organizations and mosques, and I found a mosque in the Tenderloin. Wyatt and I stopped to buy some flowers from a woman outside the Embarcadero subway entrance on Market Street. I didn't ask, but Helena, the florist, shared with us that she is from Poland and has lived and worked in this country for many years. (I suspect she might have been having a terrible election week, too.) She carefully boxed the arrangement we had chosen so it would survive the trip on the train, and I wrote a little card.

Because Wyatt prefers to use all forms of public transit whenever possible, he insisted we take BART to Civic Center. Once at Civic Center, he complained bitterly about the ride being too short, but the busker crooning Carole King's "It's Too Late" took his mind off it. We began to make our way up Market Street. Along the way, we watched a police officer fall off the the back of his mountain bike as he tried to perfect a wheelie ("Someday I'll get it!" he said cheerfully) while his partner shook his head and rode on, we saw some homeless people sleeping, some asking for money, and a variety of "activity" as we walked up Jones Street.

Once we had arrived at the address, I realized I didn't know how to deliver flowers to a mosque. It was time for prayer, and there were men hurrying in, removing their shoes, and washing their hands. Wyatt and I were definitely out of place. I said to the man closest to me at the entrance, "We have these flowers to give to the community." He looked at me and said, "But I don't know any of these people." Me neither. So I said, "Well, I don't want to interrupt...would it be okay if I left them here by the sink?" And he replied, "Yes. I think that would be fine." So that's what we did.

On our way out, Wyatt noticed some mothers wearing headscarves sitting on the sidewalk with children in their laps. They were holding signs asking for money. "Are those KIDS homeless?" he asked me once we were down the block. "Maybe," I said, and I could feel Wyatt's little hand tighten in mine it as the weight of their reality hit him. Does empathy start when we notice an aspect of ourselves in someone who is suffering? I can't know for sure, but we have been discussing homelessness off and on ever since.

There is a lot of work ahead of us. And as Wyatt's and my Friday flower delivery showed, sometimes we won't know what we're doing and we'll feel awkward, but we will do our best, and we will learn. I realize that dropping off flowers isn't the only answer, but it felt good to offer a small kindness directly to people who, as I told Wyatt, "are probably even more upset about the election than we are." Marc and I are also looking at how we can better impact our community and country in terms of volunteering our time and donating money to established organizations. We will also be vigilant in contacting our representatives in an effort to hold them accountable.

Meanwhile, I've been a terrible cook this week. Awful news affects me on pretty much every level, and this week I lost interest in eating anything other than pretzels, which is bad news for the people I live with. But we have been muddling through thanks in part to some homemade Lara-esque bars Wyatt and I made last on Sunday while the cookies for the Hillary volunteers were baking. It seems like a lifetime ago. Here's the recipe in case you want to make the bars, too.

Ingredients:

• 12 ounces of dried apricots
• 16 ounces of cashews
• 1/2 teaspoon of sea salt
• 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla
• 2 oz raw hemp seeds

Directions:

Put all of the ingredients into a food processor and let it run for several minutes, until everything is in tiny pieces and has come together. Line a rimmed baking pan with waxed paper (or parchment) and press the mixture down evenly into the pan. These are yours to make whatever shape you want, so however thick you want them, go for it. Cut them in whatever shapes you like. Refrigerate the pan, and eat up once they're firm. You do need to keep the bars refrigerated, or they get smushy.

Democracy and Cookies

"S-O-P-E! Come join our DEMOCRACY!"

This was Wyatt's chant most of the way home on Sunday, as he proudly marched down the sidewalk holding up his new sign. He got smiles, waves, thumbs-up, and all the responses you'd expect to get in San Francisco from a sign picturing Nancy Pelosi as Rosie the Riveter saying "WE CAN DO IT!" After several blocks, though, I gently suggested, "Why don't you use an 'H' instead of 'S,' that way you can spell "HOPE," because "SOPE," even though it sounds like "SOAP," doesn't mean anything." He looked at me quizzically, took a beat, and then resumed his original chant until he had placed the sign in a window of our house.

One question I've been asking myself during this presidential election year (ha! as if it has been only a year!) is: How do I engage a five-year old in electoral politics without totally ruining his innocence (and sounding to him like the useless grown-ups on Charlie Brown)? Until yesterday, I had no answer other than taking him to vote with us. We otherwise keep quiet about the election around him, except when he asks a question about cartoons on the cover of the New Yorker, remarks on the poll one of his classmates keeps trying to take during recess, or mentions the Trump Trap they have been building in the play yard. "Voting" is a solid answer, to be sure, but I was hoping to come up with more.

On Saturday, I phone-banked from home, and I dedicated hours to figuring out my votes for the longest ballot in the country. (Oh, California! Sometimes, I don't even know where to begin with you.) On Sunday, our original plans had been for book club (we're reading The Buried Giant—it's wonderful!), but the meeting was postponed. Then Marc was sidelined because he finally came down with The Horrible Cold. As the Primary Sunday Parent, I didn't feel like I could phone-bank again. But Wyatt and I could bake and deliver Cacao Nib Cookies for the volunteers at Hillary Headquarters. So we did that.

Overall, baking went very well. And the whole delivery would have gone really smoothly if I had paid better attention to the address: 1001 Van Ness Avenue (Hillary Headquarters) is nowhere near 1001 S. Van Ness Avenue (Limón Rotisserie Restaurant). I took us to Limón. Upon our arrival, Wyatt made it clear he was not impressed. My mistake would have been no big deal if I had been driving, but it was a by-public-transit-and-foot kind of day. So we took a deep breath and regrouped. As we walked to the 16th Street BART station, we ran into a small parade of demonstrators in favor of San Francisco Propositions A and N (which would expand voting rights in local elections). The demonstrators' chant was a little bit muddled, but "DEMOCRACY!" came through loud and clear, and Wyatt had some questions. "Mom. What's democracy?" I did my level best to answer that one, and he said "Mmm," while nodding knowingly.

Once we were finally at Headquarters, we got to make ourselves name tags, and the greeter explained that we could deliver our cookies to the person in charge of "the café" on the third floor. She also said that we should check out the phone-banking rooms and texting rooms, and maybe, just maybe, they'd have a sign or something Wyatt could have. His ears perked up and his step quickened as we headed for the elevator. "Mom. Remember she said maybe they'd have a sign for me. Can you ask? PLEASE?" The third floor was buzzing with lots of voices, palpable excitement, and a flurry of activity. We looked into the texting room (it's boring watching people text, as I'm sure you have experienced, and get-out-the-vote texting looks the same), and then we went to the phone-banking room. We heard a volunteer reach a voter in Ohio, thank them for their vote and support, and then ring the bell. We left on that high note.

We were at Headquarters for 10 minutes at the most, which is hilarious considering how long it took us to get there. We picked up Wyatt's sign on the way out, and he had me read it to him a few times. He carried it down Van Ness as we headed to the Muni station, turning positively pink as people gave him smiles and fist-bumps .

"Mom! People really like my sign. It's a really nice sign, isn't it? And it's the same on both sides, right?" Emboldened, he said loudly for the first time, "S-O-P-E! Come join our DEMOCRACY!" then paused and asked with an ear-to-ear smile, "Right, mom? Isn't that what those people with the signs were saying?" I laughed and said the democracy part was right, but I wasn't sure about the rest of it. He responded with conviction, "It was S-O-P-E! I just know it."

And so he continued, as well he should have. Details (like political platforms, policies, and spelling) matter, but they only matter in the context of our democracy. It's our democracy that really matters.

Please be sure to vote!

Hapa Zome (The Beauty of Hitting Flowers with Hammers)

In June 2015, I attended a workshop by Plants People at West Coast Craft. The workshop was on one of those Sundays when there couldn't have been more traffic or less parking around Fort Mason. It was so bad that, looking back, it is remarkable that my friend Margaret, her friend Aisling, and I all managed to make it to the class, never mind create beautiful flower prints. But we did.

"Hapa Zome" is the name that India Flint gave the natural dyeing process of placing flowers on fabric, folding the fabric, and then hitting the fabric firmly and repeatedly with a hammer (or mallet) to transfer the flower pigments to the cloth. The color transfer and prints you get are incredible. Even when you think you've totally messed it up, the petals move, and you don't achieve even remotely what you had imagined, the result is lovely. And there's no better craft than this one if you're feeling impatient, frustrated or you just want to hit stuff. 

Ever since the workshop, Margaret and I have been saying how much we wanted to do the project again.  We finally got around to it a few weekends ago. Margaret (whose many talents include floral design) picked up the flowers from the Flower Mart and bought the alum, Maja got the silk scarves, and I brought spray bottles, mallets, and towels.

We sprayed our scarves with a solution of water and alum, and then got to hammering, spraying more of the alum solution as needed. (Alum is the mordant we used, and mordant is what helps color stay on fabric rather than just disappear).

We put cardboard on the table under the towels, but three strong women hammering is no joke. By the time we were done, one of the bolts holding Margaret's table together had worked its way off a screw and onto the floor. My point is, choose your hammering surface carefully and look for loose bolts when you're done. You might opt for no towels, as well, if you want a crisper imprint of the flowers. Try it and see what happens. We mixed our alum and water solution without any regard for science or dyeing authority. If you want to do it "right," you can consult natural dye resources for ratios of the amount of mordant to use for a given amount of fabric and prepare the fabric accordingly. You can also choose flowers that are commonly used for natural dyeing in order to get a more lasting result. The wonderful thing about this process (or disappointing thing, depending on how much you love your initial result) is that over time, the colors of the flower imprints shift, fade, and change. As that happens, or as you find other flowers you like, you can add more prints to your piece.

Wyatt was more than just a little bit jealous that I spent the afternoon with Margaret (she was his teacher before she became my friend), and he refused to accept that he wouldn't be hammering flowers himself. So he and I did another scarf the next day.

He loved the whole process. I mean, who wouldn't? Swinging a heavy mallet also tired him out, so there's that, too.

So, definitely try flower hammering.

Also! I have a new soup recipe to share: Sweet Potato Coconut Curry Soup. No photos, but it's orange like the sweet potatoes in it, and it's great. Don't let the list of ingredients scare you off--most of them are for the spiced chickpeas/garbanzo beans (which I haven't yet made because we had some leftover from Nopalito). The soup is so great, in fact, that Wyatt brought it for lunch a couple of times last week, and the teachers asked for tastes and then asked me for the recipe. My adjustments to the recipe as are: a pinch or two of cayenne (instead of 1/4 tsp, because one of us doesn't like things too spicy), 1 tablespoon of curry powder (instead of 2 tablespoons), and a sprinkle of coconut vinegar or sherry vinegar to finish the soup just before serving. The recipe also doubles very well, and when I added a cup of water that one time I was short on coconut milk, the soup was still just as good.

Last but not least, I hope your Halloween was as good as this little panda's was.

Halloween Countdown

Look what I found in the garden!

Last year for Halloween, Wyatt was an elephant. This year, he wanted to be a panda. I offered to knit him a panda hat and sew him a panda costume. He vehemently objected. "NO MOM. I want you to knit one JUST LIKE last year, only black and white, and we can paint rainbow buttons." Little known fact: Pandas are creatures of habit.

There was no way I was knitting another Union Suit, especially considering the first one still fits. Also, one of my rationalizations for knitting an entire Halloween costume is that I get to learn something new, so repeating a pattern wouldn't work. It took me several weeks, but I finally convinced Wyatt that the way to go this year was a pair of Hammer-style knitted play pants and a cardigan with a simple, panda-esque yoke. I sold him on the practicality of having a two-piece garment when he needed to go to the bathroom, promised he could paint buttons for the panda hat, and told him I'd put as many buttons as I could on the cardigan. It was May when we reached an agreement, in case you're curious about the timeline on a project like this. Then it was time to shop for yarn.

In addition learning something new, this knitting exercise requires my using sustainably and ethically made materials. While the yarns suggested for both of the patterns sounded lovely, I opted to use Quince & Co. yarns. Quince uses 100% American wool, and the wool is processed, spun, and dyed responsibly in the United States. I also used the leftover cotton fabric and thread from last year, and got buttons, once again, from Honey Be Good.

Substituting yarns in a pattern can be tricky, and the sweater and play pants patterns were no exception. I opted for Lark, which is a worsted weight yarn, even though both patterns were written for lighter weight yarns. I did a lot of swatching, modifying, measuring, and cursing as I went along. In the end, I made it all work.

I started with the hat (in Puffin), went on to the play pants (they photograph terribly, so there's no image of them alone), and then I did the cardigan. Why this order? As I told Marc, if were hit by a bus before finishing the cardigan, he could go get a 3/4-length sleeve black and white baseball shirt, and Halloween would be just fine. The big thing I learned from this costume is how to steek a cardigan. After getting past the terror, there's something truly empowering about slicing up the middle a sweater you just finished knitting, especially when it works as beautifully as it did here.

Last, Wyatt and I built a belly for the panda. We sewed three sides of a belly-sized rectangle of pink cotton interlock fabric to an old t-shirt of Wyatt's, stuffed it medium-full with stuffing I had stashed in a closet, and then we sewed the fourth side. Instant panda! Ha.

The one thing we forgot to do was grow bamboo. Does "fast growing" mean we can have stalks in a week? We'll see.

On Being Bold

Whenever I hear someone say, "I have no regrets!" I snarl a little bit to myself and think how amazing it must be to be able to take a 36,000-foot view of one's own poor behavior and decisions. Needless to say, I am not one of those people who claims to have no regrets. And as someone who poses a triple-threat in Worrying, Overanalyzing and Attempting To Affect Outcomes by Worrying and Overanalyzing, regrets are unsettling. Most of the things I now regret seemed like perfectly good ideas at the time.

On the other hand, some of my more rash, out-of-character decisions, ones where seconds later I wondered what on earth I had been thinking, have turned out to be some of my better calls. For example, take the time last spring when I was walking back to my car after dropping Wyatt at school and I saw his former nursery school teacher. She was walking with her friend who had recently started substituting for a teacher on maternity leave. Wyatt's former teacher waved exuberantly from down the block, and a few steps later, she exclaimed, "Good morning! We were just talking about you! Have you met my friend?" We exchanged introductions while I wondered (and worried about) what on earth they could have been discussing. She went on to gently pat the hat she was wearing, the one I had made her for Christmas the previous year, and praise it. She commented on how chilly it was when working outside with the children in the spring. And then she said,  "My friend here doesn't have a hat." I practically heard the penny drop down a coin chute somewhere in my brain, plink-plink-plunk, as I heard myself ask the friend, "Would you like me to make you a hat?"

Let's be clear. I'm not a person who volunteers to knit for friends of friends. My offer to knit that hat is a testament to Wyatt's former teacher's particular brand of kindness and boldness. As I walked on to my car, wondering what had just gotten into me, I pretty quickly decided that I should treat this hat as a design opportunity: This hat would become a pattern. With that plan in mind, I went to Imagiknit and bought a skein of Sincere Sheep Cormo Fingering in St. Bart's (a light blue, because we had clarified that the hat shouldn't be too bright, too red, or at all pink). I started swatching that day. What eventually came out of my design process was The Tiny Bubbles Beanie. 

A couple of weeks later, after I had delivered the hat, things got interesting. The teachers introduced me to a new friend, a formidable designer and sewist, with more knowledge in one tiny corner of her brain about fashion and the industry than I could research in any reasonable amount of time. She and I are convinced we will do something terrific together someday; meanwhile, we meet for coffee from time to time and inspire each other.

Around that same time, and also thanks to these teachers, I began to collaborate with the women behind Saans, a shop based in New York that features premium sustainable fashion with traceable origins. We are working together to create a line of sustainable knitwear, and we started with a hat. We debuted and sold out of our first run of this chic, playful beret (designed and knitted by me). More on the beret later, once they're available again, just in case you want to buy one...

Also this weekend, samples of all four of my patterns made a trip with Sincere Sheep to the Sheep and Wool festival in Rhinebeck, New York. Treetops, Owls, and Bubbles, knitted in the loveliest of Cormo yarns. I was sorry not to join them.

But I am so not sorry I knitted that hat last spring. In fact, I'm so happy with how that decision went that I've started seriously to consider making more rash decisions in the future.

Music, Mending, and Lambtown

Even though I remain really reluctant to embrace the season of apples, squash, and soup, October has gotten off to a truly terrific start. The first weekend was full of so much fun that Wyatt skipped school on Friday so we could fit it all in. And then last week, I published my fourth knitting pattern. More about that in next week's post, but meanwhile, YAY ME.

Last weekend was Wyatt's most anticipated annual musical event: Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. We went on Friday before things got too crazy. This is us (actually Wyatt and my knitting, I guess) outside the gates for the concert for middle-schoolers on Friday morning. The music at the festival was great, but the highlight for me this year was watching Wyatt make friends with a four-year old and a three-year old near us at one of the stages—he gave them pony rides on his back, and then they all had a dance party. As if all of that goodness wasn't enough to make a winning Friday, we ended the day on an even higher note after we picked up my friend Debbie at the BART station. We spent the late afternoon and evening with her playing Trouble (which she had brought for Wyatt), making and eating pizzas, and catching up. 

On Saturday, I attended Katrina Rodabaugh's Sashiko Mending Workshop at Handcraft Studio School in El Cerrito. Bonus: Maja came too. I have been waiting for this workshop since June when I found Katrina's work and she promised me in an email that she'd be back in the Bay Area to teach in the fall. True to her word, I got to learn from her in person. She spoke about her journey into slow fashion and the reasons why it's important to disrupt the cycle of fast fashion's trends whenever we can. I loved the books and resources she brought to share. "Sustainable fashion" can be challenging, as I learned in my own little way last year making Wyatt's elephant costume. (Read about that here and here.) During the mending workshop, we hand-stitched a tea quilt (which is thinner and smaller than a potholder, but bigger than a coaster), learned methods of mending, and we witnessed how some simple stitches by our own hands made our patch jobs look beautiful and intentional. Some might even say our embroidery was on-trend. The stack of clothes I need to mend is now one pair of jeans shorter, and I have the confidence and know-how to tackle the rest. Now all I need to do is make the time . . . mending has this way of staying at the bottom of my list of things to do.

Sunday was Lambtown! All three of us went this time, and this year, Lambtown had all the things Wyatt had been looking forward to (music, petting zoo, pony rides, cooking demonstrations), along with a new attractions: a train he could ride on with or without his parents and an interactive farm equipment display. The sheepdog competition was very entertaining, and I learned that Marc knows A LOT about sheepdog trials. (The things a person can hold back in a long-term, committed relationship never fail to surprise me.) We visited with Brooke at the Sincere Sheep booth, where she had displayed my patterns beautifully, and I stopped in to see Kira of Kira K. Designs just next door. Wyatt got to watch carding and blending again at Dreamy Goat Design Studio, and I learned about Shaggy Bear Farms in Scio, Oregon, where they specialize in rare sheep (and their fiber).

I added Gotland and East Friesian roving to the collection of different rovings I have been spinning into yarn. I'm planning to knit all my beginner yarn into a modern, log-cabin style, sampler blanket. My stash of handspun yarn is slowly growing. Here's the stash so far: