A Homemade Life

Just before I left for Paris, I came across Molly Wizenberg's new book, "A Homemade Life". As if they all coordinated the intervention, 3 unrelated people recommended I take it with me on my trip. I love when that happens -- when just the right book or album is placed in your hands before a pivotal experience.

So I lugged her beautiful hardback book around France with me (even though I finished it on the third day if the trip). I couldn't bare the thought of leaving it behind and there was something comforting about seeing the book each night on my bedside table. I'd re-read whatever story I opened to just before I fell asleep. The stories in Molly's book are so funny, sweet and real that I felt that old familiar tug on my heartstrings each time I picked it up. The recipes that followed each of the stories were equally lovely and for a novice cook, seemed within my reach. I savored every tasty minute of that book.

Fast forward to 2 weeks later -- I arrive safely back at home, a battered copy of "A Homemade Life" in hand. One evening, during my routine walk around the neighborhood, I noticed a piece of paper in a store window advertising the new cookbook store in the neighborhood (Omnivore Books) and amazingly, advertising a book-signing and talk given by none other than Molly Wizenberg. I love life's synchronicity.

First of all, I just want to say that I LOVE Omnivore Books. I adore it. It is this magical house-turned-bookstore that is spilling over the edges with amazing books on food, cooking and agriculture. They sell lots of vintage titles too (think of the version of Betty Crocker's Cookbook that your grandma used). They also keep multi-colored, freshly-laid/gathered eggs at the counter for purchase. I just love that.

Anyway. Back to the story. So I arrived at Omnivore and to my pleasant surprise, it was packed! I wasn't the only one who was inspired by Molly's touching stories and recipes. Molly was just as I imagined -- a petite and graceful gal with a big smile and an eloquence I just knew I'd admire. She told us the story of how her writing, and ultimately this book, unfolded. She let us peek into her heart and told us the story of how she met her husband, Brandon, and how their love of food evolved as did their relationship with each other. I found myself grinning ear-to-ear the entire time. Later, she signed copies of our books and we each got a few minutes to chat with her. I brought her some fresh eucalyptus honey from the Noe Farmer's Market (my all-time favorite mixed with yogurt), and we had a lively debate about the best place for pain au chocolate in Paris. Molly and her hubby are opening a restaurant in Seattle (Delancey) in June so I hope that our paths will cross again someday soon (next time over pizza).

Later on Saturday, I took a stab at her "pickled carrots" recipe using the fresh spring carrots I picked up at the Farmer's Market that morning. I also tried her "stewed prunes and citrus" recipe, which has been a welcomed addition to my morning yogurt and honey.

So all that being said -- go buy and read her book! You can also check out her lovely blog - Orangette (which is truly the seed of all of this). And if your life and travels bring you to Seattle, go eat at Delancey. Sit and savor a wood-fired pizza and be grateful for that (and every) moment life delivers, right on time.

Summer Camp

During one of his poetry talks in Tuscany this spring, David Whyte told us a story about how his (now teenage) son used to call grown ups "growing ups" when he was a little boy. I love this. And when you think of it, that should be the real term for adults. I don't know that I'll ever reach a moment in life when I deserve the definitive title of Grown Up. I much prefer the idea of a work in progress.

So lately I've been thinking about summer camp, specifically summer camp for adults, and the idea of growing young again. Why not? I personally could use a good dose of bonfire-singing, sidewalk-chalking, finger-painting, smores-dripping, firefly-catching evenings. I want something to help bring back the magic of summer, its room for creativity, its freedom.

Over the past few years, I've been actively exploring a number or urban and rural "camps" for adults that render that feeling of the summer camps we had growing up. Those of you who shared in my Chicago chapter attended more than a few of my guitar "shows" at the Old Town School of Folk Music, one of my favorite adult camps to date. Whether you want to take an Appalachian dulcimer class, learn native African dance or simply start guitar lessons from scratch, Old Town School of Folk offers nightly and weekend classes for both adults and kids in over 50 different instruments, not to mention vocals, dance, yoga and a multitude of ensembles. They also offer the option to rent instruments from their on site store, "A Different Strummer" so you don't need to commit to a huge investment if you're just experimenting. Classes are held in groups - about 20 people in each class. Each class session ends with a collaborative "group jam session" in the main auditorium where all levels of practice have the opportunity to play and sing together. I've never met a more eclectic, happy and caring group of folks in one spot.

On a slightly different note, I've recently become pretty involved in the Laughing Lotus Yoga community in San Francisco, a relatively new yoga studio in the Mission (16th St. at Dolores). Laughing Lotus was started by Jasmine Tarkeshi and Dana Flynn in New York where their original set of studios still thrives. Here at their newer San Francisco location, every 90-minute session feels like an afternoon at summer camp. We eat animal crackers, drink tea, sing songs and jump around the studio like 8 year-olds. I'm consistently amazed at how fun the teachers at Laughing Lotus can make a class while still providing the spiritual and physical guidance we come to yoga for. Laughing Louts also offers a series of retreats throughout the year if you want to have a longer time away. I haven't tried any of the retreats yet, but the most recent one, "Ring Around the Redwoods" took place in Mendocino (north of San Francisco on the coast) and included an on site vegetarian cook, masseuse, daily hikes and morning and nightly yoga.

A friend of mine recently passed along information for Esalen, an adult learning center in Big Sur that's perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. In addition to its aesthetic beauty (seaside gardens, natural hot springs, etc.), Esalen offers hundreds of continuing education courses for adults, ranging in topics from writing to massage to organic gardening. The length of classes varies but many are held over a long weekend. Lodging is available on site (you can choose from dorm-style or single room). I hope to check this place out next month, if for no other reason than to sit with these people in the hot tub.

Lastly, time and funding permitting this autumn, I'm planning a pilgrimage to the John Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina, one of the original folks schools in the United States. Located in western North Carolina in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the John Campbell Folk School was founded in 1925 by John Campbell and his family and is based off the folkehojskole (folk school) model from rural Denmark. More than a hundred years ago, these "schools for life" helped transform the Danish countryside into a vibrant, creative force. Similar to the original intention of the schools, the Campbell family designed the folk school in Brasstown as an alternative to the higher-education facilities that drew young people away from the family farms and community.

Today, the John Campbell Folk School has evolved into a nationally-recognized cultural center and offers year-round week long and weekend classes for adults in craft, art, music, dance, cooking, gardening, nature studies, photography and writing. A week in the Blue Ridge mountains at the folk school looks like good living to me -- 3 homemade meals a day, cozy lodging on the property (with the option to camp), day-long classes and plenty of gorgeous scenery. I should also mention the weekly barn dances and concerts, which bring together visitors and members of the local community in celebration of music and movement. It doesn't get much better than that.

There are still a few weeks left of summer and a long gorgeous fall ahead of us -- both are the perfect time to explore your own idea of adult summer camp. It doesn't have to be a week long, expensive commitment. Even buying a new set of watercolor paints and some apple juice can qualify. Report back with what transpires.

Ourspace (A Tribute to Frida)

It comes with the territory. Living in a popular, metropolitan city often means tight living/creative spaces, high rent prices and a general sense of restriction when it comes to living large and out loud. A city notorious for its cost of living, San Francisco is no stranger to these challenges. What continues to amaze me though, is what blooms in this city despite the confinement.

This summer, I've been attending quite a few performances at the Red Poppy Art House, an incredible artists' space in the heart of the Mission district. The Red Poppy hosts everything from flamenco workshops, to Brazilian jazz concerts to oil painting lessons for kids. Housed in the bottom studio apartment of an old red Victorian, it's a space that is as ethereal as it is practical. By day, it's a working artist residency and classroom. By night, it is magically transformed with candles, cushions and chiffon streamers into a lively performance space that is almost always filled to capacity. I love that they never insist on a cover charge (a donation is always encouraged). It's art by the people for the people.

On a similar note, Red Poppy Art House works alongside another amazing San Francisco organization - MAPP: The Mission Arts and Performance Project, which has also caught my attention lately. MAPP's main goal is to encourage residents to transform their garage and outdoor spaces into living art galleries. They emphasize that art doesn't need to be formally housed in galleries - rather, putting it at a more basic accessible level can change the health of our society.

This past weekend, Red Poppy and MAPP teamed up to host a Frida Kahlo tribute that took place alongside the huge Frida exhibit that opened June 18 at the SFMOMA. Among many other smaller performances, the tribute was tied together with a moveable performance space in which "Frida" traveled from studio to studio on her bed, carried by friends and family, just like she was carried into her final gallery opening. Kelly and I were lucky enough to catch the show as it passed through the Red Poppy Art House and even played an "active" role in helping to get the makeshift performance space into the studio. Once we did, we listened to prayers in Spanish, watched sage burn, felt live drums reverberate the floorboards and paid homage to the amazing artist.

I'm in awe of the folks in this neighborhood who keep a space like Red Poppy alive and becoming equally inspired to get involved and to contribute to it. Maybe that can be a small goal in accordance with this blog -- to deeper explore the Urban Miracles within MAPP and give whatever I can, even if it's just a few brush strokes a month. If you live in the Bay Area, I hope to see you there very soon. It is, afterall, our city, our art and ultimately our space to create together.

(photo courtesy of Todd Brown)

Divine Post-Its

This is what I want to believe: There are messages written all over the world that are meant for each of us, for our own eyes, for just the right time.

It's like when you pull a book off the shelf while dusting and happen to open to the dog-eared corner of the page that holds the poem you first fell in love to, and nudged in the crease of that page is the receipt of two glasses of sangria from last December and the address of an old friend you've since lost. The next thing you know, you've stumbled back into yourself, into your memory, into your own heart.

I'm trying to do a better job of noticing these little divine post-its. Sometimes I leave things on purpose for myself to find - in books, journals, handbags, my guitar case. More often though, I comb the streets of my city to see what others are leaving. After all, these street messages are meant for me too and anyone else with the eyes to see them. I've been carrying my camera with me on walks and on my commute hoping that it forces me into awareness.

Last spring, I had to make a decision whether or not to move back to California. I spent a long April weekend in San Francisco just roaming the streets, visiting my old favorite nooks, trying to locate the pulse of the city again and determine whether it matched my own heartbeat at that time. Also around that time, an anonymous street artist was making sidewalk stamps and leaving messages all over the city. They were stamped in dozens of places - at bus stops, next to the burrito shop, on tennis courts. With each walk and each uncovered stamp, I started to feel the pulse again.

After that trip, I returned home to Chicago with a continued desire to find more messages. That same week, I came across one of my favorite post-it's to-date on the side of a rusty old dumpster:

As I write this on a foggy, summer San Francisco evening, you all know how the story unfolded. And I'm still seeking and finding dozens of new messages every month, many of them here, but many on my journeys elsewhere too. Even if you don't live in a big city, these post-its can still reach you. Go ahead - dust the bookshelf. Open the old wallet tucked in the dresser drawer. Take a long walk. Start looking. Start seeing. Even a dilapidated gas station sign can be a divine post-it: The words "Fill Up" are still saying something.

Littlewood's Law (waking up)

It all started with this random theory I came across a few months ago on Wikipedia:

Littlewood's Law states that individuals can expect a miracle to happen to them at the rate of about one per month.

According to Wiki, "Littlewood's law can be explained as follows: A miracle is defined as an exceptional event of special significance occurring at a frequency of one in a million. During the hours in which a human is awake and alert, a human will experience one thing per second (for instance, seeing the computer screen, the keyboard, the mouse, the article, etc.). Additionally, a human is alert for about eight hours per day. As a result, a human will, in 35 days, have experienced, under these figures, approximately 1,008,000 things. Accepting this definition of a miracle, one can be expected to observe at least one miraculous occurrence within the passing of every 35 consecutive days -- and therefore, according to this reasoning, seemingly miraculous events are actually commonplace."

I love this.


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I'm back in San Francisco after over 3 weeks of travel. My heart feels like it might explode from the amount it took in: A handful of summer nights in New York, the entire country of Ireland, a stormy Chicago weekend, solstice sunrise in the Marin headlands and back again. I've been collecting stories, miracles, secret places, antique keys, songs, polaroid pictures, quirky cab drivers, rare instruments and summer cherries. In the days to come, I hope to share them with you.

I'm starting this blog in hopes of making an active pursuit of witnessing the small (and huge) graces I experience in San Francisco and around the world. I hope that through my posts, adventure ideas, stories and photographs, you'll be inspired to experience these (and your own) "miracle" moments in your own city or wherever your travels may find you.

From the random sparkling sidewalks outside my office in San Francisco, to a famous "singing taxi driver" in Chicago, to a field wrapped in double rainbows in Ireland, I'm taking notes. I'm waking up.

Welcome inside.