From thirty one thousand feet a river path looks like unraveled viscera. Giant kitty gifts laid one next to each other in liver and terra cotta. A blue and orange jet speeds below us, dissecting my view. The image is disconcerting. The landscape is salty and diaphanous, but there are rectangles carved out of it? There are so many people in Toronto, yet seemingly so few in Utah.

It’s odd to be returning home from a business trip with a sense of paralysis. Returning to life where schedules have to be juggled, bedtime expectations met, and energy is frenetic. My quarterly trip to Toronto is always a pleasure. It’s nice to spend time in a place where I can work as long as I want. My perception of productivity there seems boundless. I always feel well liked by my colleagues, but somehow interacting with them in person always bolsters my confidence, and leaves me rejuvenated for another quarter of mayhem at home.

I had a “professor” in college named Karim Rashid. Karim was a charming, wiley and an absolutist when it came to design. He took risks like a painter, and had the flare that all the ID groupies envied. The stories I liked the most were his stories about growing up in Toronto in the 70’s. In a time when the East Village was still a cool place to live, and room mates were flying to Prague $150 for the winter term, Karim was touting Toronto with all the genuine evangelism he could muster. I really admired how he unselfconsciously described Queen, and urban planning, bad hair and his burgeoning design desires. His stories mixed it all together graciously as if he were sharing just to make us feel comfortable with where we were at…suburban aesthetes cultivating vision and clumsily attempting to file the perfect square out of a block of aluminum (yes I had to do this in Metals 1, and yes my square was not even close).

I too am now in love with Toronto. It has taken me several trips to put my finger on it but I think I finally got it. Toronto meets my childhood idea of utopia. A verdant place where city, suburb and open space commingle. A place where everyone is a different color. There is just the right balance of home spun mom and pop overlayed against the backdrop of perfectly architected environment. The environment there is still so newly planned, I sometimes catch a whiff of Berol marker on velum in the air. As I meandered through the mall across the street from the office the other morning I came across some older ladies doing some sort of chi gong dance routine with hoola hoops – I love this usurping of commercial spaces for personal expression. That evening I was whisked off to see the Divine Performing Arts traditional Chinese dancers in the heart of down town surrounded by beautiful shiny sky scrapers and a breathtaking super dome. We rode home in civilized public transit and discussed the merits of meditation on the way. This final touch really sealed the image in my mind.

Of course this utopian vision is not hindered by the fact that every youth in Toronto seems to be dawned from head to toe in flawless 80’s attire. None of the bad stuff mind you. No gold and maroon twisted headbands, horizontal striped mini-skirts or split-ended mohawks. I felt as if every one there was wearing an outfit I chose for them. I like it when a dream comes true, even if it is 23 years later. Perhaps Karim still takes pride in Toronto especially now that the vision has worked out the kinks, and has dawned really good hair cuts!

Addendum

Here is the link to Karim’s website.  I noticed some of his work was displayed in Toronto, so perhaps he has not lost touch.

Karim Rashid

S:  Grandma Belle died and another one came?

A:  No.

S:  Grandma Belle died and another one didn’t come?

Pause

A:  No sweetheart, no more came after she died.

S:  Can we grow one?

A:  A Grandma Belle?

S:  Yes.  I want a baby.

Dear Seth,

Monday was the first day of school (observed by me). It passed uneventful in a haze of redwood dust and lady bugs. I was a little too prepared to remember the camera, so I’ll have to document you another day. The afternoon proved to be one of our best play days yet. As soon as you got out of the car you were ready to expend some energy. I came out to find you busy at work rearranging the dirt pile with a mop. When I asked you what you were doing you told me, “I’m excavating for the lost castle and lost village”. I sighed to myself…another obtuse island of Sodor reference – parenting can be so banal.

Wiping the sweat from your brow you declared, “This is hard work”. Next you picked up a rake and decided that the best way to spend the next half hour was to whack the crap out of some cardboard. I guess you just needed to get that out of your system. It was pretty entertaining because you discovered that you could loft the refrigerator size boxes up in the air with the rake. Its fun to see destruction and laughter intermingled. Adults are so compartmentalized in our lives, we need to mix ingredients more, and definitely bend the rules along with some rakes!

The cardboard beating episode seemed to help you focus, because you turned on a dime from crazy whacker to engrossed builder. Apparently Francis had given you “specs” for a building, and you set to work arranging cardboard in a very orderly fashion.

There were rooms for tools, rooms for trucks, and even a room for you!

The end result was very impressive. We lingered on the picnic table admiring our work and discussing the various attributes of the different architectural features. The effect was actually rather aesthetic – Frank Gehry eat your heart out.

In time we drifted to the play house and you instructed me to be the wolf and to come and try and eat you. I was very threatening, but you came up with all sorts of ingenious reasons for me not to eat you. Most notably that I should eat Mango instead because she was really a sandwich. You seemed to be working out some sort of boundary setting. You encouraged me come and threaten you, then you very firmly told me in an all too familiar tone, “no do not eat me Mr. Wolf, you find someone else to eat”. I am glad you are working this out for your self. I want you to be as prepared as possible to communicate with others and live a productive life – ack there I go with those “Island of Sodor” morals again.

Love + Mommy

Just like that they pick up a bike and start riding.  This actually took place Friday last.

When Seth was about done with bike riding he rode up and said, “Now I can pedal on stable bikes”.  This seemed counter intuitive to me, but I guess the bikes with training wheels are a bit wobbly.  He got off the bike and announced that he needing to go to do some chipping.  At which point he put on a helment, sought out an “unstable” bike and headed for soft ground.

Chipping, as opposed to actually riding a bike is a very productive activity that involves a lot of “hard work”.  Seth and Francis discovered that they can essentially ground their bikes with training wheels in humus.  They then spin the back wheel and it kicks up organic matter everywhere – just like a chipper!  Not only is it dreadfully collaborative they spend a great deal of time getting the pile around the wheel just right.  It’s funny to see them engaged for half an hour repeating the same sequence of steps over and over again.  They sound just like a road crew as they optimize the pile based on what they just observed from the last round.  It sounds like such a no nonsense operation till particles fly everywhere and they let loose with squeals of glee – surrendering to the entropy of it all.  (Please see steps below)

STEP 1

STEP 2

STEP 3 – YA BABY! LET R’ RIP!

Fort Funston is the best place to spend Labor Day! After all, Mango works really hard providing high quality tail wags, looking cute when appropriate and guarding against squirrels. All dogs deserve a day of recognition. A day without leashes, free to sniff, romp and be adored to every heart’s content.

Everyone was commenting about the weather. It was so hot. Sethy and Alan took refuge in a shady sand pit during lunch. Something about trying to loose Uncle Cary – he’s so bouncy. Alan did the first excavations, then Mango and Seth contributed when the mood struck them.

Beach ward bound!

Judy was at this same beach a few weeks ago and rescued a beached baby great white shark. I will see if she will send us the camera phone photo for the inside scoop. (See Sharkey Addendum below)

ARRG Matey! Alan, we are going this way…

Those new Spidey jammies were looking a bit too clean.

Hard to believe that hot dry sand talus faced this icy crashing surf straight out of a Japanese block print.

SHARKEY ADDENDUM

This is Sharkey. Judy and Catherine came across him three weeks ago on a foggy Friday at almost the same spot on the beach as the photo of the waves above. They were able to keep him alive by pouring sea water from Alan’s dog bowl over him for 1/2 an hour. The experts who have seen this camera phone photo believe that he was either a very young Great White, or Salmon Shark. He was about 3 feet long and had lots of teeth (unfortunately the teeth shot got erased from the phone). Eventually a young man came by and they were able to gingerly hoist him on to some old plywood and scoot him back into the surf. Judy said that after they got him back in the water they noticed 2 huge fins about 30 feet out, so presumably the parents were relieved to get their precious bundle back. I like to think it was a shark playdate and the moms were showing the young how to sample the Chocolate Lab Counter at Fort Funston.

This morning was a little confused, a transition day to end all transition days. Our early morning was spent swinging trying to push away the inevitable separation process that was looming. We milled about unsure of how to occupy ourselves.

“ROLLING PIN FOR STEAM ROLLING THE NEWLY PACKED DIRT ~ SATURDAY”

Seth suggested that we do some work under the oak tree, I began to fiddle around with the pots we had packed with fancy pants soil over the weekend. Then he said it, “Mommy, are we going to plant the seeds?” That was all it took. The optimism in the phrase, the eager step forward, one child’s joyful will clarified my path for me. I stopped wallowing in roadside confusion. Pulled myself out of the ditch of distraction and found my life again. I’d been waiting for this moment, following a dim remembrance of peace and productivity. I’d been hanging around waiting for that big break!

It wasn’t all this easy. Last week and this weekend were angrier than ever. We arrived at Orchard Supply bright and early on Saturday only to be greeted by the stench of off-gassing plastic, industrial cleaner and the all mighty Monsanto aisle. We pressed on for shade cloth, the one and only item that Orchard Supply should/would have. Did I note the emphasis on Orchard? And did I mention that shade cloth is for fruit trees? Of course we get there and they have everything but the actual shade cloth I need. Bitter and rampaging I finally settle for this stuff called “Crop Cover” that sort of resembles shade cloth. We cross town lamenting the Big Box of it all, and head for the organic home farm head quarters Common Ground.

http://www.commongroundinpaloalto.org/

In true suburban form, it turns out that you no longer have to mix your 3 part planting mix by hand. You just buy the fancy pants dirt already mixed for 14 bucks a bag! I decided to and try it. After all I am not sure how much bat guano crystals and kelp emulsion my home made compost ever had in it, and I am willing to splurge on an early spa treatment for our winter crop. On the way out I asked the thoughtful straw hatted woman at the counter about shade cloth. Her comment was, “Oh we don’t bother with shade cloth, we just use this stuff called “Crop Cover”.