Life of Wry

Glorious.

I know there’s going to be a lot of spring floweriness over the next few months so I need to pace myself.  And I know it’s very insensitive to post a shot like this when 60% of the country is experiencing a horrific winter storm and is buried under mountains of cold, wet snow.

But the quince are blooming.

I had a very sweet morning.

I met a friend for coffee.  This is someone I have known in a very limited context, so for the shy side of me, sitting down for coffee required a tiny bit of bravery. Not a lot, but a little.

We met playing tennis.  She’s a tennis instructor and I’ve been taking lessons on and off for a few years, trying to find my old game.  She’s an amazing player with a seriously impressive tennis resume, and really?, it’s wildly fun to hit the ball with her.

Over thousands of tennis balls and many short bursts of conversation, we found that we have a lot in common.  Besides tennis, we share an affinity for way super liberal politics, sailing and David Foster Wallace.  We are close in age, have similar world views, share raging disdain for a certain tea party, gun toting, self-promoter from Alaska, and both have little athletic sons who play tennis and baseball (well, hers not so little anymore).  Also, there’s this Scandinavian connection. (Funnily, our names both begin with Kari and end in son.)

For years we’ve shared small parts of our life’s experiences, but usually standing about 78 feet apart; never over coffee.

So, today we did that, and it was very nice.  And she gave me this Swedish crystal candle holder (the photo, above) as a belated birthday gift, which was so unexpected and so lovely.

Not a lot more to say about it all, but reflecting on how sweet life is sometimes.  And hoping it’s a friendship that continues.

[Photo, unrelated to comments below, celebrates the fogless early morning. Bright blue sky through a tangle of leafless branches.  YES!  Cold, but nothing like the midwest right now, which will experience a massive storm today and two feet of snow.  So no complaining coming out of me on a 36 degree morning. Nope.]

“Ah, good taste, what a dreadful thing! Taste is the enemy of creativeness.” -Pablo Picasso, painter and sculptor (1881-1973)

Wondering about that.

I work at good taste–in clothing, decor, wall art, serving bowls, purse selections, head bands, my choice of car.  Endless.  Artful, attractive–in my view, anyway–but generally within bounds.  I claim it as my personal aesthetic and consider it a fine way to be.  I like my taste. I like being in my personally decorated world.

But it’s a fine line, no?  Maybe it lacks passion, and abandon.  Oh yes, and RISK.  I love the idea of spontaneity and chance–mostly because I rarely act out of the bounds and safety of good taste.  I lean tasteful.  Careful, correct. But often lust after, you know, the other.

Good taste reflects in my actions, too (mostly).  Comes out as tact.  Tact and good taste sort of go hand in hand, I guess, and really, it’s the appropriate response most of the time (she said defensively).  Tact, diplomacy, “being impeccable with your word,” is important if others’ feelings are to be honored, taken into account.. all persons respected.  But.  Who doesn’t love the guy who just frickin speaks his mind? Or just wears his messy old heart on his sleeve.   It seems more real, more honest.  But, maybe not always in good taste.  Not always nice, not always dignified.  So, a fine line there, too.  Of course there is simple beauty in living life honestly, in clear, direct communication that does not hurt people around you.  Tact isn’t always dishonest or boring.  That level of human communication is a true art.

But I ramble.  Tactfully.

Good taste shows up in my writing as well.  Careful, measured.  Technical.  Uptight. Spiritless.  (It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)  But that’s another post.  (Actually, I already beat myself up on that one… way back September, I think.)

It’s a skill, I guess.  To trust enough and to be liberated enough to act colorfully, impulsively, sloppily.  To be unhinged and joyful. To release yourself into the world openly.  Or, as Pablo Picasso goads: creatively.

So, yeah… the Picasso quote, and others like it, always kind of hit a nerve… they challenge that self-conscious place of restrained expression–even if artful, tasteful and tactful.   I keep saying to myself: 30 years, babe.  There’s time left to reach.

Who’s to say it won’t also come out tastefully?

Gee.

One thing to appreciate about Davis, especially on a fogless, perky winter day, is the art.  There is a lot of art around town, thanks to the City’s commitment to its art in public places program.  This ceramic giraffe keeps watch on the south side of the architecturally pretty interesting Pence Gallery on D Street.

Whimsical art works better in the sunshine.

Woke up this morning to 8″ of fresh snow.

After a night of snowfall, the second day was another world altogether.  We walked in the morning and it was absolutely silent.  The ground was smooth, the sky was marbled, gray.  The snow was light, deep, satin, and our steps were like whispers.

Again, in the winter vacation capital of California…a walk along the Truckee River… not a soul.

Ambled down the hill from the cabin we were staying in on a gorgeous winter’s day.  Snowshoed down river a mile and a half or so.

It makes me wonder why we don’t go up to the mountains in wintertime more often.  Nothing simpler and more liberating than putting on a pair of snowshoes and heading into the wild. It’s Tahoe, yeah, tens of thousands of vacation cabins, but we saw not a single person in two hours.  Into the trees, down a hill, around a bend in the river… walk anywhere, see nobody.

So, yes, wild.

The first day was a spectacularly sunny and mild Sierra day.  Colors were sharp and crisp. It hadn’t snowed in weeks and the ground was hard, easy to walk on, sure.

The second day, another story…

Can I blame the fog?

It’s like this: the winter of 2011 has been a foggy one.  Foggy foggy foggy foggy.  I–like everyone on I-80–drive with my lights on in the fog.  My you-left-your-lights-on alarm is on the fritz.  I, therefore, left my lights on for two longs hours while having a nice breakfast in Berkeley this morning.  And…. my battery died.

Damn fog.

Grateful for friends who travel with jumper cables, and mostly know how to use them.

…. Who’s there?

UC Davis.

UC Davis who?

(wait for it..)

UC Davis when the fog clears.

I know, dumb.  And I KNOW, another FOG picture!  But, hey, that’s January in Davis this year.

Not bad for the first round of golf in I don’t know how many years.  Quit after nine because I’m sensible that way.  And back’s stiff.  But: hit one green in regulation, 2-putted three holes, and didn’t totally screw up any holes (besides the one quintuple bogey on the second hole and a pair of quadruple bogeys).  And I was very pleased with TWO BOGEYS and THREE DOUBLES!  And had two good outs on my three trap shots. And only lost two balls–one not even my fault (a great line interrupted by a tree, sent the ball into a neighbor’s yard).  And, in my warm up, I holed two chip-ins (yes) (with a witness), and putted quite well.

I drove with a 5-iron until my confidence came back (see previous post about favorite number) then used a 3-iron.  I also carried a 9, a sand wedge, and a putter.  That was my total bag.  You can do that at Muni.  All shots–minus perhaps two–looked pretty good…hit straight with good arcs for the most part, and in most cases got a decent piece of the ball.

All in all, I was pretty happy.  So what if I hit 24 over par.  On the front nine.  AT MUNI.

I guess I just like golf. 

Bonus: the fog cleared for a while and it was very pretty out there, see?

My birthday.

Could have chosen a smiley picture, there was one, but I liked this action shot better.  Not sure why Jim snapped it at this rather scowly moment, but there it is.  Just finished lunch at Bernardo’s and I think I’m watching a woman oblivious to the fact she’s about to back her car into me (I AM standing in the street..).

So, yes, my birthday.

I don’t feel in a particularly reflective state of mind, which is very fine with me; not what I need or want on this day; I’ve been doing a ton of it in the last few years, anyway.  Plus, we tidy, list-making, resolution planner types do a lot of that at New Years–just three weeks ago–so it’s all plenty fresh.

I actually don’t have a particular interest in setting this day apart in any way, other than to enjoy the day (a sunny one at that) and collect on the goodwill of others… which I totally love and appreciate.  There are cards, emails and calls coming in, which is so nice, and interestingly, a steady, fun stream of Facebook well wishes that adds to the mix.  OH! and texts… which… one just boinged on my phone.  So, the ego side of the house is being quite well fed.  All makes for a nice day.

Matt called this early morning and said something about double nickels.  Excellent.  Five’s always been my favorite number.  Five times five–my birth date–even better.  So I’m reasonably ok with 55, but for the reality of being that far along.  It sounds a lot older than it seems.  That’s the way THAT goes.

Matt also offered a great suggestion–that I take myself to the movies.  So that’s what I’m going to do this late afternoon.  Jim’s not only accommodating, but will have a meatloaf and baked potato dinner waiting when I get back (yeah, I really ordered that).  So not to fill up on popcorn and neccos.

The day will wrap eating Martha’s Killer Chocolate cake, our easy family birthday tradition (plus, it’s truly killer) with Peter and Jim and maybe not too many homework and bedtime skirmishes.

My kinda birthday.