Dear Seth,

This week was all about rites of passage.  You asked confidently and we let you have at it.  You started with Yousef’s shirt.  Last week we got two bags of hand me downs for him.  You immediately got out the fabric paint and proclaimed that you were going to decorate them.  You did a few samplers last week, but Monday was masterpiece day!  Aside from taking painting  initiative, you have become very responsible about your permanent paint.  You organize it all into specific boxes and fastidiously store it on the top of the dryer so that “the little kids” will not get into it.

On Tuesday you marked your fire engine keys.  This activity was undertaken with the utmost seriousness.  The application of “toe polish” is a grave responsibility.  It musent touch the skin and it’s not to be wasted.  I can’t remember the last time I saw you so focused.  However, I was not surprised, fireman business is serious and you are a consumate professional in all aspects of fire management.

Wednesday was the “moment of truth”.  You asked Mattie “mano a grandmamo” if you could paint the play house permanent burgundy *.   She was very level and said she trusted your best judgement, and was sure you would paint something wonderful.   Well you carefully painted a row of shinges and the interior of the dutch door.  It turned out to be more of a union job.  In fact when I came over to photograph, you said, “Mommy there are no cameras allowed on this building site, it bothers the workers”.

I retreated, but not after stealing a few shots paparazzi style.

Love + Mommy

* Grandma Jan introduced Seth to the color burgundy… thanks Grandma Jan it’s been a lovely addition to our spectrum of pinks and reds!

I started oil painting today.  I’ve been toying with a reacquainting for a while now, but couldn’t find the hook.  Hook meaning “what to paint”.  If you are going to go to the trouble of committing something to oils than it ought to be “good”.  Also in the mix was the desire to work more abstractly.  I get caught up in drawing things, and wind up with lots of good representations of things, but not much underlying feeling or exploration.  The hook came when I glanced over at my favorite quilt painting that I had hug in Seth’s space.  Each square was it’s own lovely canvas.  Lots of inner peace and lovely spacial relations.  Perfect for my oil paint agenda.

As I applied the paint I found myself glancing at the quilt less and less.  I let go of the reconstruction goal, and let the paintings grow into their own medium.  I guess it’s all about surrender.  Letting the medium inform your path.  Engaging in something that is entirely process based does not come easily.  By nature I am a fairly focused person with subconscious goals in mind at all times.  One of the few areas of my life that is not goal oriented is interaction with my son.  I limit my agenda around him so that he can explore life, and I can observe/reflect on the process.  I look forward to having a summer of painting projects.  Projects that are not planned and leave room for surprise and new brushstrokes.

Thanks RB for preparing the boards, lending your brush collection and cleaning the rat scat off the lovely easel.  Thanks for the easel Jaya!

Baby Boy Brown
10lbs 8oz
21 1/2in long

More pictures to come at Brownbuilt

ADDENDUM

Oscar Charles Brown

“Ozzy”

Dear Seth,

You have been very interested in identities lately.  No so much venturing speculative “when I grow up” scenarios, but confidently delivering unequivocal statements.  The other day you spent 20 minutes sorting through your art gear.  You selected a few tempera and finger paint colors, and announced that you were going to use some permanent paint as well.  I tried my best to stay casual about this serious self starting effort.  When I suggested I set up the easel you firmly said “no thanks”, and proceeded to set up a low table made out of stools on which you placed your painting pad.

Your manner of painting was nothing short of manly and evoked a 1950’s action painting vibe.  It involved lots of globing on of paint and broad physical strokes.  You applied pigment with both the roller and the brush.  You discovered that the roller could be banged against the paper to make dotted texture and that seemed really satisfying.  Just when I thought you were completely engrossed in your work you stopped and stood up. You announced with the utmost inner resolve, “I am the artist who plays baseball”.  That did it, I practically swooned.

Most of your role playing is fireman based of late.  The field trip to Nolan’s Uncle’s fire station made a huge impression on you.  A few days after the fact you stopped dead in your tracks at the top of the stairs and announced with vigor, “Mommy I am going to be a policeman, and a fireman just like Nolan’s Uncle.”  The statement was so out of the blue and so passionately delivered that I am sure I must have looked like a deer in the headlights and remained speechless, I mean how does a mommy respond to that?  Ryder told me that a few days later he overheard you telling Francis that you were going to be a fireman and an ice skater.  Perhaps your fireman has a sensitive side that only Francis is privy to.

Your profession and identity explorations are not limited to verbal announcements.  You have been wearing costumes almost non stop.  You seem to be most excited about the dalmatian costume – presumably because dalmatians are “fire dogs”.*  The power ranger costumes are often worn from morning till night as if they were regular clothing.  You don’t seem to have a good handle on what power rangers are, but they come from the “red planet” so that seems to be enough for you to go on.  The other day I found you painting your legs and arms with pink paint.  When I asked you what you were doing you replied, “I am going to be the pink power ranger this afternoon.”

Love + Mommy

* The golden gate bridge is now refered to as the “fire” bridge.  You have taken to correting people if they call it by it’s proper name.

Just a little photo essay showing some of the activity at our home farm.  Enjoy!  Love A

Dear MZ,
On Thursday after our conversation I found myself engrossed in the preparation of my mushroom cabbage and cheese casserole.  When Jim and Seth got a load of mushroom compost for the garden last week they were kind enough to give me two bags of fresh mushrooms from the farm.  When I peeked into the bags overflowing with fluffy white and brown goodness my inner Alice Waters kicked in.  I felt compelled to seek out just the right smoked cheddar, use up a stagnant bag of sunflower seeds and harvest fresh dill for the first time in many years.

Every time I see this color in vegetable form I am overcome by you.  It was particularly strong in this cabbage because I have the image of you in your recently knitted lavender sweater burned in my brain.  Like all best friends I dote on everything you create, your art, your kids, your dreams.

I poured my heart into this casserole.  My preparations were filled with joy.  How fortunate was I that a crop of killer mushrooms had fallen in my lap.  How savory the fresh cabbage, that in the store was labeled with the name of the man who grew it next to the price.  It was a party in the kitchen.  As I stirred in the spinach with the onions and cabbage I realized that I was making this for you.  You are on the verge of labor, or in it right now.  My soul friend, you are about to leave one meadow and enter an ever broadening valley.  Like you it will be filled with flowers.  I can’t wait to visit!

Dill was an ingredient that until recently was respectfully absent in my cooking.  I’m learning to cook with it again.  It seems to grow like a weed here next to the galley kitchen where I hang my apron.  I can’t seem to get enough of it of late.  When paired with the right cheese the flavor is heavenly.  Add a little bit of white wine and the dill becomes energetic.  It’s definitely my ingredient of the summer.

Finding just the right cheese is something that I know you would understand.  Not only are you married to a fabulous chef, you are from Wisconsin – cheese heaven of the western world.  I was in half moon bay which always reminds me of you, and I stopped by the New Leaf.  When I told the cheese gentleman what I was making he said he had just the thing, and got it out of the back.  The yummiest smoked cheddar ever, I could have eaten it all before it ever hit the shrooms and cabbage.  There was one small oversight that didn’t really mesh with my MZ agenda.  The cheese was from Vermont.

When it was all prepared and packed away ready for the freezer I really started to miss you.  You are about to have a baby in the spring laden heart land, and I am here cooking like a rock star on the left coast.  We are so far away.  Each loaf pan that I set in the freezer was accompanied by a little blessing for you and the baby.  I want to come and swoop the girls away.  I want to give you the space that you need to do your work of love and labor.  I want to make sure that you are fed comfort food, and that your toilet is nice and clean.  However, I can’t do those things.  All I can do is remind you from afar how proud I am of you.  Perhaps someone in your extensive gourmet family will make this mushroom goodness for you on behalf of me.
Love and Birth Blessings + Alis

This recipe is always loosely based on Mollie Katzen’s Macaroni and Cheese Casserole from the Moosewood Cookbook.

Ingredients

Pile of Mushrooms

Red Cabbage

Red Onions

Fresh Dill

Salt

Smoked Cheddar Cheese

Motzarella Cheese

Ricotta Cheese

Macaroni

Sunflower Seeds

White Wine

I am pretty much the last person to join the modern crafting world.  Steph took me to the fancy quilting store in Los Gatos and there is no turning back now!  This is one of the amy butler daisy chain prints.  It’s a perfect accent for my mint chair, and an easy place to rest my eyes and collect my thoughts mid tantrum.

Bertie was kind enough to let me use her amazing quilting studio to whip up my humble pillowcases.  Since I am a little rusty, she gave me some good pointers and introduced me to the miracles of modern sewing.  The whole exercise was incredibly relaxing.  I used to sew all the time, but I got out of practice with the advent of a career and motherhood.

I’m looking forward to a few more projects over the summer.  There is nothing more gratifying than making it yourself.

A la The Wiz, “…and the color is red”!  Red has been a mounting preoccupation with Seth for the last few weeks.  Red had been his second favorite color, but I think it has now moved to number one on his spectrum.  It all started at the construction table at school.  While the other kids were busy hammering in corks and connecting odd bits of nail and wood together with wire, Seth was studiously engrossed in red.  He got a hold of the red sharpie used for writing names on construction projects, and spent 45 minutes coloring “emergency cabins” for the boat he was constructing with Naomi.

A few days later he announced that he was going to give his vintage rusty milk truck, “a fresh new coat of shiny red paint”.  He went about the business of getting the paint and carefully detailing the quaint but decrepit vehicle.  I must say it does look much better, and the variations of paint mixed with rust are divine from a textural perspective.  After this initial truck sketch, he moved on to a more ambitious project that involved painting and construction.  Perhaps the process of painting and watching varigated red texture appear got his creative juices flowing.  The result was the “control center” for his “train”.  The control center involved meticulous painting, and well engineered placement of every last paint brush in leveled sand.  I overheard him tell guests, “not to touch the controls they are permanent” and chuckled at his serious demeanor.

I chuckled too soon, because things got really serious a week later.  Gramps and Mattie got new bedside tables and proclaimed their old castaways were “up for grabs”.  Seth inspected both tables and pointed to the smaller one announcing, “I know…we can paint it red”!  This called for real paint, so I got out the bottle of acrylic that I used for the fund raiser signs.  There were a few days between when the paint was located, and all the while Seth kept me on target, “When can I paint the table red?  Is tomorrow when I paint the table red?”  When the time came he was the consummate professional, setting out newspaper, digging up a smock and brush, fully taking control of that side table’s destiny.

It didn’t end there.  The next day there were doll pins to be painted, his fire shirt engine needed to be red, a chair from his art table was in dire need of a makeover, and one of the flower pots simply *had* to be red!  I can completely understand this love of color.  I have spent my entire life in love with one color or another.  I read so much meaning and emotion into colors that my rational mind is constantly threatening to disown my emotional mind.  That said, there is nothing more gratifying that bedecking an object in your favorite color.  So much joy will be gleaned from a glance at this red table and chairs, even if they only serve the banal purpose of fire desk and fire chair for Seth’s new fire station.

The other day Seth proudly told me, “Mommy I am the artist that paints in red”.  I swooned.  I mean come on art school mommies, you know the feeling, the moment when your child manifests vision and implements.  It is the moment when you see them gearing up to take the leap from concept play to considered project.  It’s the instant when the thousands of hours of whimsical process pay off and the meandering path becomes a true direction.

Perhaps I have more of a stake in the growth of an artful child than other parents.  Innately Seth is a man of mechanism.  I can live through 20 more years of engineering if there is the spark of color, the willingness to paint on the side, some vehicle for us to communicate parallel experience.  I am sure Seth will not be quite so extreme, but it is my deepest fear.  So, I meditate on this month of red, cultivating the hope that we can move through life sharing the indulgence of hue appreciation.

I used a recipe for lemon bread made with lemon verbena.  Seth added calendula petals to the batter and when you opened the cake you could see the petals baked in.  We put whipped cream cheese on as frosting and the petals stuck as the kids decorated their cakes.

On Easter Sunday I had a household gardening agenda.  However, I could not seem to rally.  Seth said, “mommy we need to shuck corn”.  I had to surrender to this agenda, because I admit, I am a seed hoarder.  Mattie had been hinting that I “recycle” my collection of indian corn that was getting dusty and taking up valuable space in the porch.  I was having a hard time letting go of the insanely beautiful cobs, harvested at the Ardenwood Farm.  The day we harvested the corn was ideal, I felt hopeful that day.  It was and will remain one of the happiest days of my life.  So I’ve clung to the cobs, wanting to save that clear October day despite everything.  However, Seth forced me to let go.  He sat me down for two hours and helped me remove every last kernel.  Sometimes when we can’t do something for ourselves someone else wiser has to step in.  Some of the seeds have been planted in the “corn spiral”.  Some of the seeds are in the “play cycle”.  The remaining seeds are in a bottle for me to hoard.  This time they are behind glass that can be dusted off and reflected upon.  The rest are in a bottle that we gave to Jim.  Perhaps he has planted them in his garden.