I just finished reading ‘The Pumpkin Eater’ by Penelope Mortimer. The book holds up well more than fifty years later. She was a fascinating person, too.
Today has been a hard day. I was off kilter before I even woke up. I left home without my glasses. I cried on BART over a most unbelievably sad podcast. The first email of the day was one of those passive aggressive critical emails that makes you want to upend your desk and walk out for good. And then I saw the date: 05/05/15. It all made sense. It’s been exactly ten years since we lost our Grandpa. Pa. And whilst daily life has marched on and the sadness abated to a dull hum, it never truly leaves you. So tonight when I returned home, I pulled out my Kikki.K box filled with all my sentimental things: photos, notes, trinkets. I made a mental note to bring these things out more often, to surround myself with memories and more of my past. They shouldn’t be hidden away like they seem to be right now. I poured over the photos of a man who was once a giant to me and strong as an ox. …
For me, creativity doesn’t work like that — something you can flip on with a switch. My creativity needs external input and action and laughter and sadness and elation and moments of brevity. Maybe that’s what it is I seek when I travel: Moments of magic, moments like this.
Today is my Grandma’s 90th birthday. And it’s not everyday you make such a significant birthday and I’m very thankful I am at home to celebrate with her. In a few hours, we’re going to be having a high tea for her.
I was wandering around the Inner Sunset last June, when I stumbled upon this artwork. It was prominently displayed in the window of a small business just off Judah and framed by heavy, deep blue curtains. And the visual has stayed with me since.
San Francisco is still a place that makes my heart do backflips. But there’s much more to San Francisco than a bunch of buildings on a peninsular surrounded by water. There’s a vibe, a magnetic field. I feel real there. I feel like me.