Our family supports your family--Down with Prop. 8

Maggie & The Mister stand up for what's right

Me: Guess what guys?  We're going to a protest this morning.

Oliver: There will be lots of toys there!

Me: Um, no.  But there will be lots of people and music and dancing.

Oliver (losing interest): Mommy, I want banana bread.

LATER, IN THE MINIVAN

Oliver: I'm so 'cited about the toy chest, Mommy.

Me:  Oh, Oliver.  It's a protest, not a toy chest. 

Poor kid thought we were going to some giant new toy chest big enough to hold dancing people and drums.  Instead he gets a whole lot of cheerfully pissed off gay people and a little distorted disco music.  Still, in the end, I believe it's better for them. 

Encaustic painting, Doris Day and Carmel-by-the-Sea

Doris Day owns my hotel.  I'm in  Carmel-by-the-Sea, a town so Thomas Kincaid-esque, it make me feel as if I might come-face-to-face with Bilbo Baggins all snug in his Christmas elf suit.  Everything is so dimiutive and quaint and incredibly chi-chi.

See for yourself

They have a shop here that just sells handcrafted lampshades.  Another devoted entirely to an aviation theme—you know, flight jackets for babies and massive framed photos of fighter jets against the blue, blue sky.  

Clint Eastwood used to be the mayor and I have trouble understanding how he could have taken it all seriously.  His first act in office?  Legalizing ice cream cones.  Apparently the city had an ordinance against take-out.  Not anymore.  I just now polished off a bag of Chinese.  Alone.  In my hotel owned by Doris Day.

I am here on a women's art retreat, an assignment.  I'm learning encaustic painting (painting with hot wax) in the company of six other would-be artists.  I've learned three things so far:

1.) I LOVE encaustic painting.  It's luminous and lovely and just so fun to play with.

2.) Being a visual artist is much more fun than being a writer, especially with a staff waiting on you hand and foot (Chris, more wine.  Clap!  Clap!) 

3.) A lot of women own and wear fur coats without a trace of guilt or self-consciousness. (What would Doris Day think?)

Oh, and if you took all the diamonds off all the fingers in Carmel, you might just be able to bail out the economy once and for all.

Here's my first encaustic painting (they have a tendency to look a little tie-dye Dead Heady)

Dream Analysis

Last night Oliver woke up yelling his head off at about 1:30.  I stumbled down the stairs to his room, sending Woody skittering across the floor with those terribly noisy claws of his.  What I found was a mostly-still-asleep two-year-old babbling like a lunatic, hair all sticky-upy.

Me:  Shhh (rubbing his cheek) Shh.

Oliver: Guy!  Man!

Me: Shhh.  Go back to sleep.

Oliver: Choo-choo train man come!  

Me: It's just a dream.  Shh.

Oliver: zzzzzzz.

My son's first bad dream.  This may be mean, but being able to soothe my kid during a nightmare gives me immense pleasure. I donned my capable-mom suit and kicked that Choo-choo Train Man back to the hell from which he rose.  

None of my new found skills seemed to help in my own personal dreamland.  As I drifted off I joined the Mister on the beach just as he was fishing my liver out of the surf at Ocean Beach.  We knew it was mine because of the serial number, you see.  

Me: Can we put it back in?

Mister: No.  Look at it (he holds up a large, gray jellyfish-looking thing).  It's been out too long.

Me: (realizing I'm going to die).  Darn.

I've never really gotten the hang of dream analysis, but this much is clear: Oliver is cute and I am whacked thirty ways from Sunday.

Obama makes me feel like being a good person

Today I visited my friend Rachel and her tiny new baby, Hazel.  And of course we talked about breast feeding and sleep deprivation and the horror that is using a breast pump.  But we also talked about our dear Prez Elect (if you are a fetishist like me, look here for great photos of the MAN).  She watched the election returns from her lofty perch above the city with her hubby and her new babe.  And as she looked down upon San Francisco and Golden Gate Park (her view is incredible) after Obama won, she said she imagined troops of Americans, dressed in overalls and getting to work like something out of a Social Realism mural.  Maybe there would be oxen.

And the funny thing is, I have been having the same exact vision.  During Obama's acceptance speech I was so desperate to do my part I would have grabbed a shovel and started to dig if only someone would have given me a project.  Then, just today, I got an email from my aunt expressing her need to be of service.  "I feel like volunteering for something!  Teaching school in Appalachia?"  she wrote.  

The point is, this president has got us pumped!  Never in my lifetime has a public figure asked the citizens to be of service. Now, we just need to harness all this energy and goodwill and fix some shit.  Maybe we can start here.  Or here.  Or even here.  We can all be community organizers.

Oh my God.  Oh my God.  Oh my God. This is better. Much better.

Here is the text of my 65-year-old father's message to me tonight.  He's in Vermont, three hours ahead:

"Hi Sam. It's your dad. It's whatever time.  Sometime after midnight on a very historic evening.  I'm very happy.  I just, I feel like--I know you are too--so I just wanted to say hi and say the world got to be a better place tonight.  Anyway, I love you and I'll talk to you soon.  Bye."

Amen.  Man, am I ready for this.  Hallelujah.  

A decade of love. Oh, and go VOTE!

Smart dogs vote for Obama

I have never done anything for ten years.  I've never lived in any one house that long, or had a job that long, or been at a school that long, or worked on a project that long.  Until today. On November 4, 1998 me and the Mister went on our first date.  There was broiled salmon at Lulu, Irish whiskey at the long-gone Irish bar around the corner from my old apartment.  And there were the inevitable and numerous cups of tea while we sat on the futon couch waiting to see if we might kiss.  We did.

So now I've been in love for a decade.  Not always googly-eyed or palpitating, but always, always grateful.  

Happy anniversary, Mister

The sweetness I feel on this day is matched only by the immense excitement I feel about the election.  I am jumping out of my skin!  So, if you haven't already, please go vote.  Make me happy.  See you at the party, America.  Woo hoo!

Oh, and this is so great.  Funny.  Funny.  Funny. I will miss the election humor.

cute kids, orange things, and clown faces

Happy Monday (God, I hope so)

It's been a sopping wet, sniping, grouchy few days.  Everyone, parents and children alike, acting like brats.  All-in-all kind of bleak.

But here are a few things that made me laugh despite my curdled mood and general snarlishness.

1.) Today, the day after my mother's I'm-65-and-on-Medicare birthday party, we were hanging out with the totally exhausted and strung out twins and they decided it was really fun to unzip my mom's cardigan.  Totally spontaneously my mom decided to do this sad clown face as they unzipped.  Since my kids are distressingly concerned with making people happy, they quickly set to work zipping her sweater back up, at which point she put on this weird, creepy-clown exaggerated grin.  They did this over and over.  Unzip, clown frown.  Zip-back-up, grotesque weirdo clown smile.  She looked just like one of those velvet painting clowns with the five-o'clock shadow.  The kids were going crazy.  I was weeping with laughter.  As I write this I feel that it's possible that I was a little more hung-over today  than I originally thought. 

2.) My kids singing happy birthday to my mom.

3.) My friend Lisa's new blog about orange, which, let's face it, is a really nice color. 

4.) Obama's chances on Tuesday.

5.) Oh, and I got an email from some guy at a TV production company in LA asking me if he might recommend me as an on-air expert for their wedding blooper show.  So, you know, Mary Hart, look out.

6.) This butterfly and bumble bee.