280 Indian Road

Well, as my little blog is growing, I find I am adding more and more, not only from my own thoughts and feelings, but also bits and pieces from my life and those memories which have informed my life.

My dad, as he was aging and before macular degeneration completely took over his eye sight, began writing. He liked to think of these writing (on yellow lined paper pads) as his "memoirs" and I only wish he could have written more. I have about a half dozen handwritten pages of his memories. I am pleased to share this one with you all.

Some of you know my Grandma Mimi's house as it was when were children. For others, here is my dad's recollection of this house his dad built, here in his is own words


My Dad’s “Dream House:

At the age of 8 or 9 (I’m not positive of my age) my dad started building on a beautiful parcel of land in the City of Piedmont. It was 3.5 acres facing on both La Salle Avenue and Indian Road. It was heavily wooded with oak on the east and the land sloped and was quite open to the west. In between it was level and it was here that the house was built. It was dad’s “dream house,” which in later years was designated a showplace.

The house was three stories with a full basement and living quarters for a man servant. A large laundry area was also located in the basement. I remember a heavy table with all sorts of pads and an ironing sheet. The table was suitable for ironing bed sheets.

The ground floor consisted of a large foyer or entry hall, to the left was the library, Straight ahead through French doors was the living room, a room of ample size. Another pair of French doors led to the dining room. Off the dining room was the breakfast room, the butler’s pantry and the kitchen with the 8 burner and 4 oven Magic Chef creation, then the vegetable pantry and larder.

The second floor was reached via a formal staircase and contained a guest room, master bathroom, Mother’s room, Dad’s room and bathroom. My sister Betty’s room and bath, a maids room and bath, plus sewing room.

The third floor was the domain of me and my brothers. We each had a room, four bedrooms, a bath and sleeping porch. The décor was strictly masculine. Except for the bathroom and sleeping porch, the entire floor was constructed of redwood board and batten.

Dad and Mother entertained in great fashion. A formal dinner at times, countless casual parties, tremendous “open house”get togethers at Christmas or New Years. My brother’s and I were able to share in any and all of these functions.

Mother and Dad were very proud of their home and the beautiful gardens surrounding it. Dad was a rhododendron and azalea fancier and quite possibly had the largest privately owned garden of this type in California. He also planted three five foot redwood trees in the center of the garden. Those trees now standing some 50 or 60 feet in height are living landmarks of 280 Indian Road, Piedmont.

Mother and Dad both passed away in the house. Dad in 1940 and Mother in 1963.

Our GrandDog Nigel

Justin asked us to dog sit Nigel last week while he toured Disneyland with his friends.
It was great fun! Iris was aloof as ever so you won't see her in any of these photos. Note that Renee and Nigel found a way to peacefully co-exist together.

Art Inspires

Stephen and I visited the Legion of Honor Museum yesterday. We were there for the exhibit;

Women Impressionists:
Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Eva Gonzalès, Marie Bracquemond

What a glorious collection of work. These women were contemporaries of Manet, Monet, Degas, Pissaro and Renoir.

Here is a description I wrote down during the visit at the museum.

“All four women were acquainted with their Impressionist colleagues and gained acceptance into the group. However, once achieving the status of professional artists, they still had to negotiate the conventional notions of proper behavior for women of their class. They were not allowed to be seen in public without a chaperone or to enter the cafe-concerts or bars that their male counterparts relied heavily upon for their colorful stock characters. Thus, whereas their male peers explored a wide range of subjects drawn from everyday life, social convention largely confined these women artists to their domestic environment, and their subjects reflected their perception of the world from within this limited sphere.”

Looking at these amazing masterpieces, what struck me was how in spite of the obvious talent represented, the struggle for equality has been a long hard battle for women for a very long time and I often loose track of that fact as I live out being female in the 20th /21st century. Living within the confines of their culture these women still made such a huge difference and can be an inspiration today to women and girls everywhere. What a blessing!

Here is a wonderful quote:

“I shall obtain independence only by persevering and by making not a secret of my intention of emancipating myself.”
Berthe Morisot
1841 – 1895

Her painting La psyché (The Mirror) is pictured above.

If you live in the San Francisco Bay Area don’t miss this exhibit. It closes September 21.
http://www.women-impressionists.org/

the english language is missing a word....

Stephen’s niece Michelle (his brother’s daughter, not my brother’s daughter. Yes he has two nieces named Michelle). Anyway, his brother’s daughter is an English teacher. She told Stephen this story: At some point she was helping a student with a paper where he was using the word “developed” several times in his story. She reviewed his work and tried to encourage him to expand his vocabulary. She suggested that he try and come up with another descriptive word to enhance his paper without overusing the word “developed.” She offered some alternatives including the word “evolved" which would have maintained the integrity of his story and the assignment. He responded that he was not allowed to use that word. Evolved??? That's right, evolve as in evolution???

Yes, there are people out there who will not use the complete English language because, why???

Breaking the law, oops....

As it happens, today is the anniversary of Earl Zindar's death.
I wish his family and loved ones peace as they remember his life.

And so it seems that I can not link his music tune to my blog, copyright law you know.
So I removed the link and now you all must get the music for yourself. Bottom line I need a BMI license, way too much money for what I want to do. Too bad.

http://zindars.com/

By the way, while I was trying to find a way to play this legally I sent a note to Anne, Earl's wife.
I wanted to see if she had any ideas about this. I received a wonderful e-mail reply from her and she asked about Justin.
Very nice that she remembered him. Yes Anne, Justin is just fine and he is a wonderful son.

I Always Think of You (for my son Justin)

One of the great joys of being self-employed and working from home is being able to listen to anything I want to during the day. Whether it is NPR, or some sermon podcast, or something in my iTunes, I get to choose and sometimes I listen to nothing at all. On Friday I was working and decided to look at my iTunes play list. I decided to play some music Justin got for me back in 2004. The artist is Earl Zindars, The music is some really beautiful jazz. The albums I have are And Then Some and The Return.

In early January 2005 a small package addressed to me arrived in the mail. Inside were the above named CDs with a post-it note attached. Justin told me the story; at the time he was working at the Masonic Avenue Good Guys in San Francisco. As part of his job and sometimes just to be helpful, he sometimes went to customer’s homes to help them with their audio and/or video systems. Earl and his wife Anne came into the store and bought a TV from Justin and he went to their home to set it up for them. While Justin was there, the topic of music came up and Earl asked Justin what kind of music he liked in the jazz genre. Justin mentioned his favorite, Bill Evans. Earl went on to mention that he had worked with Bill and that they had been friends over the years and that Bill was at his wedding. He gave Justin two CDs. Justin enjoyed the music and contacted Earl to see if he could buy another copy of the same recordings for me. That is how I came to receive the recordings and Earl’s note.



Friday as I was listening, I got to thinking about how I was introduced to Earl Zindar’s music through Justin. I did a google search and I saw that he had passed away in August 2005 just 8 months after sending me the CDs and the note.


Reading about his life was pretty neat and I felt a bit nostalgic about the whole thing. Although I like jazz, I am not a true aficionado but I know what I like and I like Earl Zindars. Be sure and check him out.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/08/19/BAGAREA6QJ1.DTL


http://www.zindars.com/

Happy Birthday Mother

Helen Elaine Kern Markwart
July 31, 1921 - May 6, 1999.

Shortly after mother died I was fortunate to be able to join a mother/daughter grief group. This was a wonderful experience where adult daughters shared the sadness and loss due to the death of our mothers. Each of us brought a unique experience to the group. I was and am grateful for the experience.

During the group I often doodled in my journal while listening to the others share their thoughts and feelings. In spite of the sometimes strained relationship I had with her I was able to think of many things for which I am thankful that I had the mother I had.



During the early days of my grieving, I spent time making a lamp shade with old buttons that she had. Doesn't every mother have a collection of old buttons? Touching all those buttons, many I remember from my childhood, was a healing experience. Sewing each one, one at a time, onto the shade was meditative as well. Later I found the perfect lamp base and the whole thing is magnificent. After I die, I wonder who will want mother's beautiful lamp.

I edited my "I figured it out today" post

And looking back on it I realize that this is how I live my life, looking inward and upward and a little outward. And then the dreaded word came up:

Introspection; that's i-n-t-r-o-s-p-e-c-t-i-o-n.

Then I was reminded of the time I was labeled; "introspective to a dangerous degree" by a less than reliable source.

Remember that? I say pshaw, that's not me. Introspective, yes. Dangerous? I don't think so.

Besides, I already let you in on my secret in my very first post back on on September 1, 2005. Yea Socrates.

Any thoughts out there on introspection? or sin? or????

and more......

I already mentioned that it seems if you go looking for the worst in life, you will find it. It has always been there in every age and generation. But are we to focus on it?

I prefer to face the truth about life and at the same time try and see the good in my fellow human beings.

For example, after the wedding of Jenna Bush I began trying to see her father as a dad instead as a President. It really helps when you stop to humanize those with whom you disagree.

Disclaimer: I am an independent/moderate politically, neither conservative nor liberal. Those labels are simply too limiting in this complex and fallen world.

This life often has its challenges but God is with us and all will be well.

Psalm 30:5 - For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

I figured it out today, I think...

It seems if you go looking for the worst in life, you will find it. Sure there is all the evil out there (in the culture) but what about the good?

Warning: I am not a trained theologian, although some say those who seek after God are all theologians. Here are some ideas of mine;

Sin is a noun, it is not a verb (an action word). Sin is a condition. Separated from God and God’s desire for our communion with God and each other, with ourselves and with the environment.

The verbs, (to make) a mistake, to err, to (commit) a crime, etc. those actions are results of the separation and often speak to our “human nature.” I don’t think of those actions as “sin” in and of themselves but actions we choose as a result of our sinful/separated state.

I think infants are born innocent (never having yet made a mistake) but still born in the separated state to parents also in the separated state whom God placed in their particular time in history. If you are reading this, then you like me are here and now. This is our particular time in history.

For me pursuing God and the purpose to life all the while recognizing God's longing for me, are daily steps I take to help me narrow my separation gap.

Does this make any sense? It may be a simplistic way to look at the subject. But that is ok for now, because I am still working on it, all of it.

Father's Day 2008

This morning Stephen asked me to describe my happiest memory of my father (1915-2001).
We were driving across the Bay Bridge on our way to Grace Cathedral for the 11:00 Liturgy.
On our way there we always pass by Tadich Grill on California St. I imagined it being 1938 and Dad having lunch there.
A block from the Cathedral is the Mark Hopkins Hotel. I imagined Dad there with his friends for an evening at the Top of the Mark.

Fast forward circa 1958 - I said that for me my happiest memory was sitting on the arm of the big black chair watching him work a crossword puzzle and listen with him to the Lucky Lager Dance Time radio program. I sat on the arm or sometimes at his feet, while wafts of smoke would drift from his lit cigarette and envelope me in a haze of who he was and what he enjoyed. I remember it as though it were yesterday and to this day I too love crosswords and the music of the 30's, 40's and 50's. Thanks Dad.

Happy Father's Day Dad I thought of you today. I love you.

Four more days

An exciting adventure ahead for us. An anniversary trip? Sure, we have only been married five years. That is 35 in dog years and plenty of reason to celebrate. After what we have been through, celebrate? You bet! I will say, a lesser woman would have drowned in all the sludge of denial that exists in the Rockies.

We leave for London and beyond on 28 September. Our gift to one another.

I like this poem. It speaks to me on a very basic level.

Take Care
"When a man dies, it's not only of his disease; he dies of his whole life." Charles Péguy

Our neighbor Laura Foley used to love to tell us, every spring when we returned from work in richer provinces, the season's roster of disease, bereavement, loss.
And all her stars were ill, and all her ailments worth detailing. We were young, and getting up into the world; we feigned a gracious interest when she spoke, but did a wicked slew of imitations, out of earshot.
Finally her bitterness drove off even such listeners as we, and one by one the winters nailed more cold into her house, until the decade crippled her, and she was dead. Her presence had been tiresome, cheerless, negative, and there was little range or generosity in anything she said.
But now that I have lost my certainty, and spent my spirit in a waste of one romance, I think enumerations have their place, descriptive of what keeps on keeping on. For dying's nothing simple, single. And the records of the odd demises (stone inside an organ, obstacles to brook, a pump that stops, some cells that won't, the fevers making mockeries of lust) are signatures of lively interest: they presuppose the life to lose.
And if the love of life's an art, and art is difficult, then we were less than laymen at it (easy come is all the layman knows). I mean that maybe Laura Foley loved life more, who kept so keen an eye on how it goes.

by Heather McHugh, from Hinge & Sign I Prefer © Wesleyan University Press. Reprinted with permission.

Michelle gave me the idea

It seems the perfect thing for me, just like the journals I used to keep. Of course I have heard of the blog and it seemed meant for the geek with time on her hands.

Yet, for anyone who knows me, I have wanted to write about my life all my life. So I might just do that.

The unexamined life is not worth living for man.
Socrates, in Plato, Dialogues, Apology
Greek philosopher in Athens (469 BC - 399 BC)