The Icing

A couple of years ago I was visiting San Francisco and happened upon several artists showing their work in Union Square. There was one woodcut I just couldn't get out of my head, "Transplant" by Bridget Henry, a Santa Cruz based artist. Over a period of about nine months, I sent her regular payments until finally I'd paid off my "art on layaway." My friend Sam and I drove to Santa Cruz to pick up the woodcut one weekend when we were going to a play in San Juan Bautista (at El Teatro Campesino).

I still love the piece. I moved on average every three years when I was growing up. Frequently, I went through the process of putting down new roots in a seemingly barren place. Usually I flourished, but the beginnings sometimes produced anxiety. This woodcut reminds me of who I am. I still sometimes experience that delicate feeling of starting new growth with hopes for a healthy, strong, happy future.

Yesterday I received an invitation to the Santa Cruz Open Studios 2007 tour (October 6, 7, 13, 14) which will include Bridget's studio. For more information, check out Bridget's website under events. If you're near Santa Cruz, you should drop by to see more work by this talented artist!

Yesterday I attended the Tamejavi Festival with my friend Samina and her two children Maya and Cyrus. According to the Tamejavi website, "Tamejavi is a word meaning 'cultural market' whose origin is in the concept of 'plaza' or place of exchange. It is derived from the Hmong and Lao TAj laj Puam, the Spanish MErcado, and the Mixtec nunJAVI." Each year, this educational event creates an opportunity to celebrate the contributions of the many immigrants who have made their homes in the Central Valley.

I blogged about the food we ate there on Cakeypal's Savory Morsels, so here I'll blog about the children's dance performances. The program began with a group of Persian dancers.

I enjoyed witnessing the cultural pride they displayed as they shimmied and twirled . . . it was also fun to see parents and grandparents beaming with pride. Another group performed traditional dance moves to more contemporary Hmong pop music. These little ones were so cute with their synchronized moves and shy smiles. Although the M.C. commented on his own "Asian bling-bling," the girls' outfits were also charming.

Two young couples danced a Oaxacan number and then all the performers gathered on stage. After brief comments from Fresno City Councilmember, Blong Xiong, the group sang "This Land Is Your Land" led by the Mujeres Valiantes. The Woody Guthrie song took on new meaning for me in this context; it celebrated the immigrants whose descendants make up much of the American population. The Mujeres Valiantes sang another number on their own, "Brown Eyed Children."

While we wandered around Radio Park looking at art and waiting in line for the Time Tunnel, Armenian and Filipino dancers took the stage. I walked towards my car to the tunes of those displaced by the Dust Bowl. The crowd yesterday was fairly sparse--I hope that this event continues to grow. It is a unique Fresno celebration which represents and honors the rich traditions of the Central Valley.

If you've been reading my blog, you know that my grandfather passed away in June. As we were going through his things, we found photo albums which chronicled his 98 years of life. I enjoyed going through the photos, seeing the pictures that had meant something to him over the years. I looked at pictures of relatives I couldn't identify, but also pictures of aunts, uncles, and cousins; places my grandfather had visited; pictures of my grandmother who we lost in 1994 after a long bout with Alzheimer's disease; photographs of my parents and siblings. Here's a photograph I especially love of my parents and grandmother in 1980. I love how happy, beautiful, and young my parents look. I love the mischievous look on my grandmother's face.

But this is not another entry about my grandfather, it's an entry about . . . my sense of style. In grandpa's photo albums, I also encountered a number of pictures that reflected something important about me; to use my family's word, I love to wear "garbs." You may ask, "What is a garb?" The best example that comes to mind is an outfit which combined my brother's hand-me-down, button collar, brown plaid shirt; a blue calico cotton skirt that served as a costume for a pioneer day parade; and pink, fuzzy, knee-high socks. In other words, there are days in my life that I don't care what I throw on, as long as I'm comfortable. Generally, I know enough not to leave my house dressed in a garb. And my adult garbs basically take the form of wearing my favorite pair of shorts (or velour sweat pants in winter) every day, all day until I leave to run errands, teach, or meet friends.

In one of the pictures in grandpa's photo album, however, I'm in Cornish at my grandparents' house . . . and I'm wearing a garb. Outside. Where anyone can see me. Admittedly, it's 1974 and fashion faux pas abound. My brother Dave is wearing plaid pants. Jim's dressed all in red and has a funny look on his face. Ted looks normal (although he sits apart from the rest of us foreshadowing how, just a year later, Ted would stay in Utah to go to college while the rest of the family moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania), but my mom and Matt are covered up enough that who knows how well their clothes match. And me? Look closely. Does this outfit work? I'm wearing a knit top, plaid cotton seersucker (yes, that's right, seersucker) bellbottoms, and scuffed waffle stompers (as we called them in Utah). Yes, I'm sartorially blessed. Don't send the fashion police or "What Not to Wear" to my door. I know how to put an outfit together.

After months of reading food blogs, I’ve decided to start my own: Cakeypal’s Savory Morsels. I’ve really enjoyed looking at delicious looking food and reading about others’ adventures in eating out and cooking in. Most of the web sites I’ve been hooked on have focused on healthy food—and they’ve inspired me to cook more, visit farmer’s markets, and otherwise try to make better choices about what I eat. I hope that as I learn the craft of food blogging, I’ll be able to create some memorable, interesting, or at the very least entertaining posts. I’ll still continue posting to the Icing about life and teaching, but, if you want to read about food, check out Savory Morsels.

Thanks for reading my blog!

For the last few years, I've been getting my hair cut by Cynthia at KAOS. In fact, she was the person I trusted enough to cut my hair short. The first time I went in, she took the time to look at my hair closely, to examine where i had cowlicks and other oddities that make my hair unique. Since then, she's guided me through a number of hairstyles, including the longer hair that I have now.

Aside from the fact that she always gives me a great haircut, she's also really fun to talk with. Cynthia LOVES Debbie Harry and Blondie. She's a fan with capital letters. When they tour California, she goes to every concert. She brings the band gifts. She takes pictures which she proudly displays in her shop. She even campaigned to get the band a star in Hollywood. And when they finally did get honored, Cynthia was there videoing the event. If you look closely at this picture, you'll see that her tattoo is Debbie Harry's signature. Cynthia has great stories to tell about Blondie concerts (and concerts by Charo, Celine Dion, and others).

Cynthia and I also talk about politics, astrology, movies, love, families, and music. I generally leave with not only a good haircut but something to think about. She's a bit of a cynic about politics, more so even than I am. She is concerned with spirituality and relationships and has great insight into both. Once I was dating a good guy . . . but I realized one day while getting my haircut that I had better conversations with Cynthia than I did with he who shall remain nameless. The result: I'm still "seeing" Cynthia, but "he" is no longer in my life.

Going to get my hair cut is like going to hang out with one of my friends. We laugh, we talk, we philosophize. Cynthia rocks!