UPDATE: #15 Paint on Canvas

I presented my work from the semester in front of my painting class this week as a final assignment. So I thought it only appropriate to showcase them here as well - because, faithful blog readers, you deserve to see the good, the bad, and the ugly :)

First, my color chart... which I am quite proud of...

Nextly, my abstract... which I also like but did very early in the semester so want to re-do now that I have some extra tricks in my arsenal.

Annnnnd... my still life. Let's just say it is probably not done, but I am DONE with IT...

This is my landscape, which I did from a picture I took in Tahoe about ten years ago. Pretty crazy, right? 

And lastly, my first attempt at a portrait. I did this one from a photo I found of a Salvador de Bahia, Brazil woman - one of the gorgeous black women in the white dresses and colorful head dresses that sell street food in Salvador. I need to make her skin tone brighter so she doesn't recede into the background so much. 

A Napa Birthday for Nicku

I've said before in this blog that one of the sweetest blessings of this last year is my heart group. Those eight women have been a source of encouragement, support, prayer, commitment, growth and LOTS of laughs.

So when one of us turns 30... it's time to break out the heels and good pearls! Nicku planned a BEAUTIFUL birthday celebration on the Napa Wine Train last night with family and friends both local and visiting from out of town!

The birthday girl is someone who is always quick to respond and up for anything. She is my res-walking, bachelor-watching, puppy-sharing, soul-disclosing friend. She is willing, introspective, social, enthusiastic, supportive... and girl has got some TASTE!

Wishing you love, friendship, and blessings unimaginable in your 30s, Nicku... so glad you are in my life!

Hiking Season is BACK

And in the words of Jenn Kleist, "We're going to kick that mountain in the FACE!"

My light blue Camelpack has been my trusty solo-hiking companion for over four years now. I keep some basic safety stuff in there like a compass (along with the directions on how the use it since I have no clue whatsoever), a whistle (to ummm... scare away animals?? make known my wilderness location to rescuers??), some mostly-blister-fighting-first aid items, gum, and a lighter. I used to carry a dinky little swiss army knife but after seeing 127 hours, I'm convinced I need something much more heavy duty in the event I need to cut off my arm. (Seriously. I could have to cut off my arm sometime.)

My Merrells are a little snug but I don't think I'd like them bigger either. I usually download some Sarah and Vinnie podcasts, peruse www.bahiker.com for a game plan on what hike to take (I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that site!), load up on almonds/snap peas/Luna bars, fill up my hydration pack (which is leaking/sweating by the way... I guess I need to visit REI for a new one), soak myself in sunscreen, and GO.

I did two different Las Trampas Regional Wilderness hikes recently - I started both in the main staging area off Bolinger Canyon and went right through the cattle gate up to the Las Trampas Ridge trail to the peak for the first hike. For the second, I went to the left and followed the Elderberry Trail up to the Rocky Ridge Trail and back down through the Cuesta Trail. There are some great elevation-change butt burners on both but more treacherous is the INSANE wind coming off the Bay for the mile or so you tightrope walk along the Rocky Ridge that has views of Mt. Diablo on one side and the Bay on the other. Of course, I'll take some wind over the 100+ enormous grazing COWS I had to navigate through on the Cuesta Trail. Sometimes I could walk around them but if they were in a tree grove on a narrow trail, suffice it to say I was like Vicki from Parent Trap banging sticks together to "scare the mountain lions."

This weekend, I joined Jenn Kleist and Rachel Higuera in their first hike of the season at another BA Hiker-recommended hike at Mt. Diablo State Park. We started on the Ygnacio Valley/Clayton side of the mountain early on Saturday morning.

It was definitely chilly, but we were glad to beat the trail-ruining rain last night! We started at a neighborhood trailhead to avoid paying state park entrance fees and did a 5-ish mile modified loop along Donner Canyon and Cardinet Oaks trails. There was a 550 ft to 1700 ft elevation change to add some challenge, but we made awesome time and felt amazingly invigorated. Cheesily enough, we even appreciated some of BA Hiker's info about the foliage and geology along the trail.

When I hike around here, I am further reminded how special of a place California is. It's unbelievable to me that I live within 10 minutes of some amazing state parks with full trail systems that are surprisingly well kept and used. The views from summits don't disappoint... and the friendliness of the hiking community certainly doesn't either. So get your butts moving, people! Not all of you are lucky enough to live where I live, but I challenge you to find the trails in your area and kick them in the FACE!

Yeah, Everybody Gotta Get Away Sometime...

It ain't Hill Country, but a trip to Houston still calls for some Pat Green or Robert Earl Keen on the ipod.

As the countdown to starting school begins, I have managed to sneak in a few trips on the calendar including visiting Rachel a few weekends ago. I love me some Texas but I am really Austin-biased. So needless to say, Houston challenged my high esteem just a bit ;) 

No really, all jokes aside, I love visiting anywhere new - especially if it means seeing good friends and living in their world for a few days. Rachel lives in a beautiful apartment complex with a ZEN POOL (!!!) in the middle of it that we took full advantage of during the days I was there. I definitely went at the right time of year because any later than April/May would have been death heat for this temperate-loving Northern Californian.

Serendipitously, I came on a weekend Rachel and her friends were signed up for a) a champagne brunch and Royal Wedding viewing party at a cute local restaurant and b) the "Crawl for Cancer" bar crawl. There were teams of about 10-12 people who all got assigned different colored shirts. Some teams just wore the shirts, others went "80s", and our team was a VERY creative "where's waldo?" theme. I'll say no more.

It goes without saying that Texans can and do eat like no other. Anyone who visits Texas would be remiss not to make SURE to get some good TexMex and BBQ and we managed to squeeze in both despite burning zero calories the entire time since Houstonians drive EVERY. WHERE. TexMex after the bar crawl was unreal - queso and all, David McWilliams - but Goode's Co. BBQ took the stinkin' cake. You basically chose whatever meat you want (brisket, duh) and it comes with two "vegetable" sides. Apparently Texas understands how to eat, but doesn't grasp what a vegetable is because my side options were - no joke - jambalaya, two kinds of baked beans, potato salad, or macaroni salad. Am I missing something?

Rachel lives directly across the street from Joel Osteen's church, so once we figured out he was actually scheduled to speak that Sunday, it was a no-brainer that we were going. I would be lying if I said my hands weren't flailing around in the air to the awesome music and shouting some hallelujahs and amens and God is good all the times'. And Joel and his wife Victoria most certainly were in the Lord's house that Sunday... prosperity, positivity, encouragement message and all. I'll keep my impressions about it all off the written word on this one, but Jen said it best when I was telling her about it: "I mean, I'm not saying there's anything WRONG with being a televangelist or anything... but that doesn't make it not WEIRD." Amen, hallelujah. 

Great weekend with Rach and getting to know Holly. Rachel knows southern hospitality... so now I just need to get her to personally sail that ship right into the San Francisco Bay.

Hosanna!

As Semana Santa has rolled around for another year, I am reminded of John Piper's devotional on the word Hosanna. Jesus as the "new Hosanna" and causing the word to evolve from "plea to praise; from cry to confidence" is a truth to celebrate this Easter.

Hosanna - Palm Sunday
By John Piper


I know one of the concerns of the children's music ministry is that the children understand what they are singing and that they mean it. And I share that concern for our people. In a moment the choir will sing a song called, "Hosanna, Hosanna!" And after that we all will sing a song which begins: "Hosanna in the highest!" So I want to give a little lesson in Greek and Hebrew, to make sure we all know what the New Testament means when it says in three different places, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" (Matthew 21:9, 15); or, "Hosanna in the highest!" (Mark 11:9, 10); or simply, "Hosanna!" (John 12:13).

A Lesson in Greek and Hebrew

You all know that the New Testament was first written in Greek, and the Old Testament was first written in Hebrew. Wherever the word "hosanna" occurs in the New Testament, do you know what the Greek word is? Right! It's "hosanna." All the English translators did was use English letters (h-o-s-a-n-n-a) to make the sound of a Greek word.

But if you look in a Greek dictionary to find what it means, you know what you find? You find that it is really not originally a Greek word after all. The men who wrote the New Testament in Greek did the same thing to a Hebrew word that our English translators did to the Greek word: they just used Greek letters to make the sound of a Hebrew phrase. I know this sounds sort of complicated. But it's really not. Our English word "hosanna" comes from a Greek word "hosanna" which comes from a Hebrew phrase hoshiya na.

And that Hebrew phrase is found one solitary place in the whole Old Testament, Psalm 118:25, where it means, "Save, please!" It is a cry to God for help. Like when somebody pushes you off the diving board before you can swim and you come up hollering: "Help, save me . . . Hoshiya na!"

A Shift in Meaning

But something happened to that phrase, hoshiya na. The meaning changed over the years. In the psalm it was immediately followed by the exclamation: "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" The cry for help, hoshiya na, was answered almost before it came out of the psalmist's mouth. And over the centuries the phrase hoshiya na stopped being a cry for help in the ordinary language of the Jews. Instead it became a shout of hope and exultation. It used to mean, "Save, please!" But gradually, it came to mean, "Salvation! Salvation! Salvation has come!" It used to be what you would say when you fell off the diving board. But it came to be what you would say when you see the lifeguard coming to save you! It is the bubbling over of a heart that sees hope and joy and salvation on the way and can't keep it in.

So "Hosanna!" means, "Hooray for salvation! It's coming! It's here! Salvation! Salvation!"

And "Hosanna to the Son of David!" means, "The Son of David is our salvation! Hooray for the king! Salvation belongs to the king!"

And "Hosanna in the highest!" means, "Let all the angels in heaven join the song of praise. Salvation! Salvation! Let the highest heaven sing the song!"

Two Kinds of Hosannas

Picture a Super Bowl game, and (believe it or not) the Vikings are three points ahead of the Pittsburgh Steelers. The Steelers are on their own 35 and have no more time outs. There are two seconds remaining on the clock. The Vikings' fans are going wild. The Steelers line up, fake a pass to the receivers on the left sideline, and run a wide sweep around the right end, and the quarterback breaks into the open and heads down the right sideline—40 - 45 - 50 - 45. The only hope for the Vikings is Willie Teal, the safety, cutting a diagonal across the field. And out of the Vikings' grandstand come two kinds of hosannas, the old kind and the new kind. One part of the crowd is yelling: "Catch him! Catch him, Willie!" (That's the old hosanna.) The other part of the crowd is yelling, "You got him! You got him, Willie!" (That's the new hosanna.) The word moved from plea to praise; from cry to confidence.

So when we sing "Hosanna" now, let's make it very personal. Let's make it our praise and our confidence. The Son of David has come. He has saved us from guilt and fear and hopelessness. Salvation! Salvation belongs to our God and to the Son! Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!

Innocents Abroad Too

Dr. Michael Pearson is a Professor of Creative Writing for the MFA program at Old Dominion University and sailed on Semester at Sea in 2002 and 2006. I wasn't on either of his voyages, nor have I personally met him, but obviously I couldn't pass up a book with a title like Innocents Abroad Too: Journeys Around the World on Semester at Sea :)

I wrote Dr. Pearson the following note, which will serve as my review and hopefully encourage the Semester at Sea community to support his work:

Dear Dr. Pearson,

I just completed reading Innocents Abroad Too and felt compelled to write you. I am a SAS alum from the Spring 2004 voyage, so I could relate to many of your thoughts, feelings, and experiences from encountering conversations on American involvement in Iraq (Spring 04 marked the one year anniversary of invasion) to "previously svelte young women" turning into sumo wrestlers thanks to the unending food on board (a fate I myself encountered). I, too, followed yellow flagged guides through through Tiananmen Square and bought a still-sometimes-functioning Mao watch, learned pedestrian tips for Saigon, believe firmly that nothing can prepare someone for India, and left my valuables on board in Salvador. I appreciated your ability to verbalize feelings of heart break but still needing to keep "on path" in dealing with India's street kids, how somewhere like Burma necessitates more truth and fearlessness, and strategies on how to shut Fidel the hell up. Of course I identify as a fellow global adventurer, Dr. Pearson, but I would be remiss not to say what a beautiful read your book is. It moves, it has self-depricating moments, it's not as stuffy and self-righteous as so many travel memoirs can be. My only complaint is feeling protective over my own SAS voyage experience that seems to be shared by all of us no matter what voyage we sailed. A sweet problem to share.

Carrie

30 before 30: #10 Eat dinner at Chez Panisse

My earliest memory of a famous restaurant and chef is thanks to a beautiful children's book called "Fanny at Chez Panisse" that explores Alice Water's world from kitchen to food through the eyes of a little girl. It is one of my most beloved books from childhood - so it makes total sense that an adult foodie would have eating dinner at Chez Panisse on her bucket list.

Since I moved home in 2009, I have rolled up all the loose change we accumulated in our piggy bank (which is actually a cow bank but who's mooing?) and saved the cash for an occasion to celebrate. Acceptance into UCSF was just that occasion, so celebrate we did :)

When we walked into this little Berkeley house-restaurant, we were hit with the coziness of the dining room that sits adjacent to the gorgeous open kitchen. What I wouldn't do to stand and watch that kitchen for a service. From the fresh asparagus resting upright in a jar of water to the chickens rotating over open flame to a glimpse of Alice herself, I was in heaven.

We started with Sorelle Bronca Prosecco and ripe green olives (a rarity - apparently one of my mom's favorite things that she has only been able to find at Diablo Foods). The first course was dungeness crab toast with lemon mayonnaise and a little Gem salad. Really light and fresh - I desperately want to recreate the herb vinaigrette. We were also very close to stealing the cute Chez Panisse-etched water carafe before the braised pork belly with green lentils (my favorite course of the night) were served.

The main third course was spit-roasted Bill Niman chicken with herb butter and sherry-vinegar sauce; spring vegetable and black trumpet ragout and at that point we all had made the switch to the Leonetti Sangiovese we brought with us. I am extremely skeptical of a Sangiovese from Walla Walla, Washington (or any wine from Washington that matter) but I stand wildly corrected since this was truly delicious and a perfect pairing for the meal. A Pink Lady apple and sour cherry jalousie tart with kirsch ice cream was served for dessert and came with a "Congratulations" sign on my plate (nice touch Chez Panisse!). Normally a prix fixe meal is not my favorite - why go to a renown restaurant only to have the entire table experience the exact same food? But actually, that's exactly why prix fixe is genius for a meal like this. We all experienced the exact same food at the exact same time. We considered it, discussed it, and enjoyed it. There was no stress over what to order or regret in your choice once it was made. The whole experience was simple. The Art of Simple Food, if you will.

Harvesting with Joy

UCSF College of Nursing

February 23, 2011

Dear Carrie Shaffer:

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the Masters Entry Program in Nursing (MEPN) at the University of California San Francisco beginning Summer 2011. We welcome you and wish you success in your studies.

(Logistics, Logistics)

Congratulations on your acceptance and welcome to the UCSF community. We are confident you will find your experience with us academically rewarding.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes during sporting events that aren't going so well for the home team, the announcers will say something to the effect of "this crowd is just waiting to erupt -- this stadium is waiting to explode with triumph." Well that is how these last five months have felt. Constantly on the cusp... expectant... just waiting to erupt. Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. Like the crowd that explodes in triumph when the game winning touchdown, home run, or goal is scored, every cell in my body elevated to the heavenly realms in pure exultation when I read "admitted."

And I know well that all glory, honor, power is Yours, Lord.

"Not-me" Me

I met with a friend this week to catch up.

I've been treading water, close to the other shore but not able to make a sprint to it yet. Just treading for now.

Doing what I should be doing. Repeat.

Doing what I should be doing. Repeat.

My friend told me I seem to be living by the spirit. Not based on me telling him I am doing what I should be doing, but in response to me talking about waiting and matchmaking (or not) and going off the grid.

Anyway, he had a point. And - (deep breath for run-on fragmented thoughtstream) - I wonder if the stuff I do or think that doesn't feel characteristically "me" *is* what it means to be living by the spirit. Like is that "not-me" me actually the spirit and I am being supernaturally motivated? Can it be so subtle and subconscious? Can it be concurrent with the countless little and big parts of my life I DON'T surrender?

What I'm trying to say is... can someone be a wretch and a saint at the same time?

What I'm also trying to say is... I think my friend might be right about this presence. Getting here has been costly, but living this way is effortless.

30 before 30: #15 Paint on Canvas

The sea of science-heavy courses I waded through in the last two years has incited my neural cortex to tap into networks it has never used before. It has been an amazing experiment because somehow, someway I defied my english lit and political theory-trained brain and became a scientist. And while this is all very surprising and exciting, it also can be... extremely boring.

In my school electives, I never once took an art class. I remember taking a clay class and a drawing class at the Lafayette Community Center but I believe I was all of 6-8 years old at the time. This personal history is probably fine and understandable since the bulk of my creative energy has always been elevated in my writing and I showed no particular aptitude for art. But now I'm an adult who never took an art class.

Enter Beginning Painting.



Despite being enrolled in the most time consuming class known to the medical field this semester (Organic Chemistry), on Monday afternoons you will find me in Berkeley City College's fifth floor art studio alongside a fantastic conglomerate of overweight scraggly gray haired hippies, fresh out of high school dark lipsticked hipsters, buttoned up eyeglassed asians, and a few oakland-raised black athletes who need an easy A to keep their scholarships (all of this would be racist if it weren't true). Between the demonstration on how to make paint from dandelions you grow in your back yard to artsy fartsy videos that describe process to spending a few hours at Blick Art wandering around with my supply list to having the actual space and time to just TRY, I am profoundly stimulated.



Stimulated, yes. Good at it? Absolutely not. I'm a god-awful painter. What a glorious place to be when there is no real consequence to failure.

International Film Showcase at the Orinda Theatre

Although I am deeply envious of the people who are committed to reading the Sunday Times week after week, I have never been much of a newspaper person. As such, I am sure I regularly miss out on interesting tidbits or local events. So one advantage to living with newsie parents is having a mom who literally clips out articles and ads she thinks I should see. Last week, it was this article from the Contra Costa Times: "Orinda film buffs bring passion for Foreign Cinema home" which also featured the following picture of none other than my beloved friend Dori's dad, Efi Lubliner...

Efi is a long time film buff who also screens films for festivals and laments the fact that the Bay Area might never see some of the films he is exposed to due mostly to underfunding for a more widespread release. And so, the Lamorinda Film and Entertainment Foundation (www.ifef.org) brought the Norwegian Film called "Max Manus" to the historical Orinda Theatre for a limited engagement and intends to follow up with a new foreign film each month.

This weekend, your average theatre is showing visual vomit like Sanctum, The Roommate, The Rite, and No Strings Attached. If you share my disdain of these money and time wasters, you ought to go out and support a beautiful little local theatre and the efforts of a handful of your neighbors who are trying to contribute something special to our community. "Max Manus" screenings have been extended to February 10th and the next film is called "Illegal" and begins screening on February 25th.

30 before 30: #28 Consistently identify a constellation other than the Big Dipper

Well... If three times is "consistent" then I can check this one off the list.

I understand that Orion is not the most difficult or obscure of the constellations to identify, but on December 21, 2010 I was introduced to each individual star thanks to Jedd Goble's expertise.

Roy summoned us away from the Catan game to the front of the house were the lunar eclipse was in its very early stages. Jedd had received a telescope for one of his boyhood Christmases and managed to find it, dust it off, and set it up in time for us to see each stage of the eclipse... AND try to fulfill one of my 30 before 30s while we were at it.

I found Orion in Tahoe when it stopped snowing for a moment last week. And again tonight when my mom and I were taking out the trash. She was very disinterested and unimpressed. Bah.

So Orion it is! I also will need to find a summer constellation to learn, I think... so that I can always consistently identify a constellation other than the big dipper no matter what the season. Is it too early to schedule a lesson, Jedd?

2010

Soundtrack of 2010: Needtobreathe The Heat and Outsiders

Most ridiculous TV show I watched that isn't Big Brother: Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

Best new-to-me discovery: Lafayette Library and Sideboard Cafe in Danville

Place I wish I could un-discover: Sacks in Berkeley

Best way of redeeming time: Audiobooks during my commute

Worst way of wasting time: Settlers of Catan iPhone app

Most effective personal enrichment initiative: 30 before 30 list

Best thing I cooked for the first time: Boeuf Bourginon

Worst thing I cooked for the last time: Eggplant dip

Food high: Rosemary Cashews

Food low: Meat sweats in Argentina

Best reason to be in the Bay Area this year: Giants postseason and World Series!

Most unexpected joy: A little room above a Tango studio in San Telmo

Recommendation Godsends: Ben Getto and Rachel Goble Carey

Best rediscovery: Speaking Spanish

Strongest spiritual message: God's timing is better than mine. By alot.

Random act of cross-generational culture: Taking Hannie to Annie at Regional Center but failing to keep her awake for the second half

Stupidest money expenditure: Upgrading to Business class from BA to DC

Biggest failure: Big fat UIC rejection

Greatest blessing: Heart group

Day that has prompted future blacklisting from calendars for thieving the world of Praise Goh: October 25th

Top music moment: Camaron Ochs live at Swirl

Favorite Julie blonde moment: Asking if Chris Tomlin was singing at Geoff's funeral.

Grape of the year: Old vine zin

Most disgusting and connecting human moment: Thai woman and I exchanging looks of utter disgust from a man spitting loudly next to us in the street

Cutest thing that happened at all: Keira

Craziest and most wonderful thing that happened to a friend: Julie Fox getting Zeke

Best after midnight moment: post-Disneyland McDonalds run with Taylor and Jacob

Not my finest moment: Outing a friend who isn't "out" yet

Best book I read all year: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Best place to invite myself over to: Roy and D'Aun Goble's home

Most embarrassing moment: Going ass over head in the very front of a room of 70 women on the first day of bible study when my chair broke

Best "What's in her bag": Pure Illumination Lipgloss

Most despised Catan opponent: Kevin Carey

Best part of my daily routine: Sarah and Vinnie at Alice 97.3

Smartest realization: I am too old for shots

Even more fun after all these years: Disneyland

Favorite past time: Trying to remember 1990s sunday school or camp songs

Things I'll continue to stand by: Halloween is dumb and I am too pretty to do math

Things I have to reconsider my original stance on: Dogs and Chemistry

Best made-for-TV moment: Spotting Patrick in the Sunday street fair crowd from my corner table cafe perch in Buenos Aires

Best Pandora Station: Ace of Base

"ADVENTURE IS OUT THERE!" moment: Helicopter tour with Mom and Dad on Kauai

Most awesome butt buddy: Jen Weaver

Still feels good: Tahoe

Lesson learned about olive farming: Planting is a lot of work and picking isn't so bad!

Biggest community travesty: Yellow Wood closing its doors

Best thing to say to someone before they testify in court: "I will give you a thousand dollars if you do your whole testimony with an accent."

News story I actually followed: Johannes Meserle trial and verdict

Most important human moment: With Brennan in the hotel at Paul's wedding

There's a first time for everything: Gutting a sturgeon for dinner

Something that could take many categories to describe: Losing Geoff to cancer

Most uncomfortable place I felt comfortable: Soi Cowboy red light district in Bangkok

Still my favorite person to discuss "the times" with: Sweeting

Irresponsible but awesome Aunt Carrie moment: Teaching 13 year old Taylor how to drive

Favorite thing to encourage Kyle to say: I right, you wrong!

Favorite thing to encourage Nathan to say: Pick, roll, flick.

How I will remember 2010: A year characterized by the unimaginable lows of cancer, death, rejection, sacrifice, and refreshed trauma. A year redeemed in part by the simplest joys, overwhelming grace, and a continued capacity for hope.

But things never happen the same way twice...

In honor of Dawn Treader's release, I am reposting my favorite Aslan-Lucy exchange of the entire Chronicles that so embodies the Lord's sweetness and tenderness in putting up with me:

"Welcome, child" he said.
"Aslan," said Lucy, "you're bigger."
"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.
"Not because you are?"
"I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger."
For a time she was so happy that she did not want to speak. But Aslan spoke.
"Lucy," he said, "we must not lie here for long. You have work in hand, and much time has been lost today."
"Yes, wasn't it a shame?" said Lucy. "I saw you all right. They wouldn't believe me. They're all so -"
From somewhere deep inside Aslan's body there came the faintest suggestion of a growl.
"I'm sorry," said Lucy, who understood some of his moods. "I didn't mean to start slanging the others. But it wasn't my fault anyway, was it?"
The Lion looked straight into her eyes.
"Oh, Aslan," said Lucy. "You don't mean it was? How could I - I couldn't have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I? Don't look at me like that... oh well, I suppose I could. Yes, and it wouldn't have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?"
Aslan said nothing.
"You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out all right - somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"
"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that."
"Oh dear," said Lucy.
"But anyone can find out what will happen," said Aslan. "If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me - what will happen? There is only one way of finding out."
"Do you mean that is what you want me to do?" gasped Lucy.
"Yes, little one," said Aslan.
"Will the others see you too?" asked Lucy.
"Certainly not at first," said Aslan. "Later on, it depends."
"But they won't believe me!" said Lucy.
"It doesn't matter," said Aslan.
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Lucy. "And I was so pleased at finding you again. And I thought you'd let me stay. And I thought you'd come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away - like last time. And now everything is going to be horrid."
"It is hard for you, little one," said Aslan. "But things never happen the same way twice. It has been hard for us all in Narnia before now."
Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up.
"I'm sorry, Aslan," she said. "I'm ready now."

30 before 30: #27 Host a tea

~A Christmas Tea for Friends~

On Saturday, December 11, 2010

from 2-4 pm at the Shaffer Residence


~The Table~

Christmas plaid placemats
Winter green setting plates
Grandma Dorothy's fine china
Grandma Dorothy's silver flatware
Grandma Dorothy's silver teapots
Cranberry red napkins in silver rings set with candy canes
Kisses, Holiday mix, and Peppermint Candy Jars
Strawberry Preserve party favors

~The Menu~

Orange Cranberry Scones (served with lemon curd or honey)
Gingerbread Scones (served with clotted cream)
Egg Salad Tea Sandwiches
Shrimp Ceviche Cucumber Cups
Strawberry Macaroons
Chocolate Peppermint Cheesecake Bars
English Breakfast Tea
Cinnamon Spice Tea

~The Friends~

Renee Travers
Jen Weaver
Rachael Dailey

Jenn Kleist
Nicku Bastani
Jessica Gracewski

Farewell to Hogwarts

When I heard the final chapters of the Harry Potter movies would be released starting this November, I realized I was far behind the Harry Potter reading curve. I had read The Sorcerer's Stone right around when it came out my Freshman year of high school and everyone was in a total frenzy over it. I eventually got to Chamber of Secrets a few years later but was not by any means amongst those who were reading it in the hallways between class. I'm sure I read Prisoner of Azkaban at some point during college. But I stopped there. And stopped watching the movies, too.

So I found myself four long books away from being caught up and more pressing science-heavy textbooks to read for class. But my impacted schedule required a lot of driving to and from Oakland - often through Caldecott traffic, I should add - and my library card was hardly getting worn out with overuse. So began my triumphant return to the deliciousness of children's audiobooks. I grew up listening to Adventures in Odyssey, Tales of King Arthur, and Sherlock Holmes tapes before bed. And I was transported to that four poster bed littered with stuffed animals on all sides each time I listened to Jim Dale bring the Harry Potter characters alive with wonderful attention to detail. Jim Dale's Voldemort hisses just at the right time... his Dumbledore sings of ancient wisdom... his Hermione with just the right touch of annoying self importance.

I listened to my last of the Deathly Hallows cds last night in the car between class and lab. And I couldn't help but get a little emotional about it all. Harry Potter has been adored and admonished, declared brilliant and completely stupid. From opening the first book at 13 years old to turning the last page at 26, I'm sure I have felt that spectrum of criticism myself. But today I am truly sad to say goodbye to Harry, Hermione, and Ron - and to their world of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and 12 Grimmauld Place. What wonderful places these books have allowed my imagination to go!

"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"
"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Orange October

I was there when they clinched the division against the Padres.



I was there when Lincecum threw 14 Ks in Game 1 against the Braves.



I covered my face and held my breath and cheered and boo'd and worried and yelled and danced my way through watching the win in Game 1 over the Phillies.



So if this is what torture feels like, I'll have more please!

Argentina: Two Months Later

"This happens with many events and anecdotes in my life: it seems I have lived them, but when I write them down in the clear light of logic, they seem unlikely. That really doesn't disturb me, however. What does it matter if these events happened or if I imagined them? Life is, after all, a dream." (From "My Invented Country" by Isabel Allende)



I arrived in Buenos Aires alone and without a laptop, so my attention to writing about it suffered miserably as a result. It all happened as beautifully as it did in Chile, however, and all of those happenings are tucked neatly away in memory.

Meg lives in BA and has weaseled her way into the nicest group of friends - gorgeous, wealthy friends I should add - who showed me what a good night out in BA looks like. Fernet and all.

Patrick showed up a few days after I arrived and thanks to our accustomed ways of instant communication being cut off, we had to hope we would cross at just the right window of time on a corner in San Telmo during the street fair. I was sipping an espresso when I saw him with his hands in his pockets and shoulders shrugged up from cold in the Sunday crowd of antique shoppers. When I yelled out to him, everyone turned their heads to witness our reuniting embrace.

The three of us managed to eat enough for six in the time we were together - Meg knew Palermo restaurants like the back of her hand. I am now convinced there is such a thing as death by lomo, and suffered meat sweats thanks to my previous 40 days of vegetarianism.



I saw beautiful things - things that made me feel life so fully that it had to spill out into my eyes. Trained tango dancers on the street and groups of locals following alongside. The puente de la mujer. The floralis generica. The thinker statue. And death never looking more lovely than in the Recoleta cemetery.



I woke up each morning to tango music drifting up through my floor from the studio below and talked to Leti for hours over coffee as dancers stretched around us before their class began. In my desperation to find an soda bottle like the ones they used in old tango salons, I ended up in a winsome conversation with two old men in a dusty antique shop where I only understood every third word but all the good natured gestures they offered.

Argentina has felt like an unlikely and imagined dream in the light of what I came back to that characterized the two months since. But its continued proof that O'Henry had it right when he said "that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating." Fortunately, they do not predominate my life too often.

To Mom, on my first night in Argentina

Just got to Buenos Aires an hour or so ago. I loved Chile - mostly for the Chileans but also for Valparaiso which is the most enchanting city I've ever been to since Capri off the Amalfi Coast in Italy.

More on Chile some other time but for now, I have only been in BA for about an hour and already have had an adventure. The bed and breakfast I found to stay at through a series of connections sent a driver to the airport for me. Always a relief to have that prearranged because foreign taxi drivers are very aggressive with fresh-out-of-customs tourists. Anyway, so Andres whisked me out of the cold and after holding my breath that I could withdraw cash from the ATM (you never know what international ATMs will or won't accept) we made the drive to a little neighborhood of BA called San Telmo.

He pulled up to a street where there was literally nothing that remotely resembled a bed and breakfast. It's like a NYC side street where you would have to ring the bell to get into any building at all and very little signs of life other than the main drag nearby. So we get my bags out of the van and walk up to 950 Carlos Calvado street where there is one of many large steel doors and a tiny bell to ring. So he rings... We wait... He rings again... It's windy and cold and dark and damp... And then a little key shake and the door swings open to a short Argentinian woman who looks about 70 and maybe weighs 125lbs and doesn't hesitate to grab my huge monster bag and exclaim "bienvenidos carrie" (w rolled r's of course). And she beckons me inside and the door slams behind me and I look up as I feel a whoosh of sweaty warmth against my face. I am in a high ceilinged bright hallway that angles up to a dance floor where there are no fewer than 15 sweaty dark Argentinian men dancing gracefully to intense loud music in the middle of a tango class. Leti guides me through the floor luggage and all, and I "permisso" my way through the dancers as she grabs a skeleton key from the rack, and marches me to the back where there is an airy checker floored courtyard and up the stairs to my end of the hallway room number 5 that has a balcony overlooking it.



The room is plain and clean and perfect. There is a quaint reading salon next to it and Leti lives on the top floor. I told her in Spanish (for that is all she speaks) that I would refrain from yelling and making loud noises throughout the night on account that we are now neighbors. She laughed heartily and said I had better not! There is no TV and sometimes the Internet works and sometimes it doesn't and I would expect nothing less.

I dropped my stuff and came back downstairs - a new class going on, this time co-ed. With women in high heeled tango shoes. Leti shouts a dinner recommendation to me and says it is muy famoso. Been open since 1842. And I am here now... At a tippy corner table with a glass of cab sav since they are out of malbec. I told the camarero that it tastes the same after a glass anyway, so cab sav would be fine and he should not let anyone act like they can actually tell the difference. He laughed and I stopped being the poorly-spoken gringa in the corner and started being someone who he might enjoy just a little bit even if I can't understand his Spanish very well and keep asking him to repeat himself. The place is packed. It's about 10pm here - time for dinner. I ordered the Argentinian version of antipasti, since that's what everyone else has on their table despite the ten page menu.

I know you didn't approve of this trip, mom. But you should know this is what makes me feel the most alive.