Welcome!

Tenzin builds amazing fires. And it’s nippy up here in Napa, so we need fires.

For the last few days I’ve been sitting at my kitchen table writing a book. I’m not kidding. It might not be a book that any of you would want to buy, but I have a feeling lots of people will. In order to keep myself at the table, I’ve been taking geeky breaks. I was thrilled with how easy it was to move a video from my treo to youtube and then to this blog, and I am also thrilled with flickr. Late bloomer to this interweb stuff, but I like that many of the kinks have been worked out.

What to do for the holidays. it’s the rather damning plight of the single soul. I don’t think I can stomach the FOO this year–I got my dose in the summer and I’m still detoxing–and it’s all of a sudden become a little late to make any kind of reasonable plans. Not that I have any idea what that would be. Not to mention I’m hopefully starting work soon, and have no idea which days I will be required to show up. Makes the planning, such as it is, even more difficult. Perhaps I’ll just go to a motel in the desert and eat a turkey sandwich.

This is kind of a test. I realized that a video that I shot on my treo had magically made it onto my computer (I’m geeky enough that I probably could have figured out how to make that happen, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything at all) and I’ve uploaded it to youtube, and I’m going to see if it makes it onto this blog. It’s Nancy Buivid talking us through one of her magical party favors, so well worth watching.

I have a feeling the youtube code is going to break my site, but you never know.

When I can I ride my bike. But this being LA, I drive around alot. One thing I’ve come to enjoy is the rear view mirror. Aesthetically. There’s a visual beauty in the framed stillness surrounded by the large rushing world. Or sometimes there’s a small movement, but the scale is different–it’s the intimate juxtaposed with the impersonal. The known with the unknown, the possible with the impossible. But I’m sounding like what I like is metaphorical, when really what I am struck by (especially at night, driving on empty roads) is its framed beauty. A beauty I don’t stare at, because I am mindful of the road. Maybe if I could just look and look I would lose interest. Maybe, maybe not.

We’ve never scattered my mother’s ashes. After she died, we had a memorial service, a kind of a wake–which is what she wanted. She wanted people to come to the house, and eat and drink. And they did. And she wanted to be cremated. So we’ve fulfilled her wishes, and that’s important. But the ashes are still just sitting in the box, in my father’s home. And it feels wrong. They are not on display, or somewhere significant. It’s not like we decided to keep them, and having them near is important. Instead we just didn’t take action. And it dwells on me. I think I know where she would like to have them scattered. When we were in Ireland, when I was 17, we were in Connemara, and she said that she would like to have a home there when she was old. She never got to be old, of course, but I think she would be happy if her ashes were there. And I think it would suit her. The land there is beautiful, but not always in an easy way. It’s unpredictable. But people know how to be happy, and there’s a kindness there. It’s a subject I have to broach with my family. It’s another instance where I wish my father would just take responsibility, act like a parent, but I know that’s not going to happen. And I can wait and wait, or I can speak up.