Fresh peppermint
Dried chilies
shrimp
Stairs
Babies
Black shirts
Grey slacks
Birthdays
Cheese
Salsa
Comics
French
Coffee
Cobb salad
Open-air Markets
Skype
Movies
Mosquitoes
Sprouted wheat bread
Corn
Kissing
Crepes
Tea
Swing
Picnics
Hikes
Long-fingered hands
Lisps
werbs
Photographs
Green
Home
Cut flowers
Long walks
Pasta with tomatoes, garlic, and basil
Fennel and béchamel
Fruit tarts
figs
Gardens
Christmas
Buildings
Everything
lundi 22 octobre 2007
vendredi 12 octobre 2007
Surprise
Millie did not like surprises. She liked blueberries with cream and she liked fresh ricotta cheese and she like red shoes and a grey sky. But, she did not like surprises.
“Where’re you going, Millie?” said Tad.
“To the creek. Wanna come?”
“Okay.”
Millie knew just what she wanted to do. She was going to look for tadpoles. “Tadpoles with Tad,” she thought, and chuckled.
“What?” said Tad.
“What What?” said Millie.
“You were smiling.”
Oh, nothing.” Millie said.
Arg. Tad hated that.
“Do you know what I like about the creek? Asked Tad. "It’s always full of surprises. Something under a rock here, something new growing up there. Some kind of weird bug flying around. You just never know what you’re going to find.”
Hmm. Millie liked the creek because it was always in the same place. The water always made a lovely trickling sound, and the crickets chirped a familiar tune.
Tad was already barefoot. “Aren’t you coming?” He said, digging his toes into the oozy mud at the creek’s edge.
“Of course,” said Millie. She stopped at a fallen log a few feet away and carefully undid her shoe buckles. Then she pulled her white socks off and tucked them inside her shoes. She took off her backpack. In her pack, she had two glass jars, one roll of plastic wrap, and four rubber bands.
Millie waded into the creek. She looked up to make sure Tad was still upstream. There he was splashing around, running over the rocks. “I got a frog, I got a frog,” he yelled. It’s HUGE. Hey Millie, I think this is a toad!
“Eeew. Gross, Tad. He’s gigantic. I don’t know about you, but I came to catch tadpoles, not bullfrogs.”
“It’s a toad. See, feel his bumpy skin.”
“Anyway, it’s still not a tadpole. Can you go back upstream? You’re muddying up the water here and I can’t see.”
“Sheesh. Fine. Aack, come back here Toady, where are you going?” Tad splashed away.
Hmph. Millie looked at the tiny creature swimming around in her jar. Even though she’d seen it happen before, it still amazed her that this squiggly slimy thing would turn into a little jumping frog. “Let’s find you some friends,” she told the little guy, and setting the jar on a rock, she quietly knelt down and waited. Finally, she saw two tadpoles hovering not far under the surface of the water. She cupped her hands under them and brought them slowly out of the water, then quick, she poured the water and two tadpoles into the jar. “That’s good for now,” thought Millie. The freezing water that came up to her knees was starting to make her whole body cold. Millie covered her jar with plastic wrap and made it tight with a rubber band. She would poke holes in it when she got home.
Millie held still and listened for her best friend. The world sounded strangely silent. No birds whistling. No frogs croaking. No Tad splashing. “Hey, uh, Tad?” Millie called out. “Taaaaad?” He couldn’t be far. Millie headed up stream, slowly at first because of the mossy rocks. She rounded the first bend in the creek. “Taaa-aad.” He had a habit of disappearing. Still, something seemed strange. Millie started to run. “Taaaad!” Her bare feet slipped and she fell with a huge splash. Her knees hit the rocks first, then her hands. She looked down and saw blood. Her jar of tadpoles was broken, and an inch-long shard of glass was sticking out of her ring finger. She sat up, wiped her eyes on her shoulders, and tried to blink away the tears and creek water that ran down her face. “One, two, three, pull!” She told herself, and the shard was out. It wasn’t deep.
Millie felt silly for getting scared. She was only a few hundred yards from her house. Tad probably got to daydreaming, forgot all about her, and wandered off to see some bird or make friends with a stray dog. Slowly, and carefully, she began to pick her way among the rocks, back downstream in the direction of her backpack.
“Hup!?” Millie gasped. The tree in front of her seemed to appear out of nowhere. And there was a door in it with a frog symbol where the knocker should have been. “No,” she corrected herself, “a toad symbol.” Millie put her hand up to the carved toad and began to trace her fingers around its bumpy body. The water suddenly jolted her forward pressing her hand hard against the carving. She heard a “ribbit,” and the door opened.
“Where’re you going, Millie?” said Tad.
“To the creek. Wanna come?”
“Okay.”
Millie knew just what she wanted to do. She was going to look for tadpoles. “Tadpoles with Tad,” she thought, and chuckled.
“What?” said Tad.
“What What?” said Millie.
“You were smiling.”
Oh, nothing.” Millie said.
Arg. Tad hated that.
“Do you know what I like about the creek? Asked Tad. "It’s always full of surprises. Something under a rock here, something new growing up there. Some kind of weird bug flying around. You just never know what you’re going to find.”
Hmm. Millie liked the creek because it was always in the same place. The water always made a lovely trickling sound, and the crickets chirped a familiar tune.
Tad was already barefoot. “Aren’t you coming?” He said, digging his toes into the oozy mud at the creek’s edge.
“Of course,” said Millie. She stopped at a fallen log a few feet away and carefully undid her shoe buckles. Then she pulled her white socks off and tucked them inside her shoes. She took off her backpack. In her pack, she had two glass jars, one roll of plastic wrap, and four rubber bands.
Millie waded into the creek. She looked up to make sure Tad was still upstream. There he was splashing around, running over the rocks. “I got a frog, I got a frog,” he yelled. It’s HUGE. Hey Millie, I think this is a toad!
“Eeew. Gross, Tad. He’s gigantic. I don’t know about you, but I came to catch tadpoles, not bullfrogs.”
“It’s a toad. See, feel his bumpy skin.”
“Anyway, it’s still not a tadpole. Can you go back upstream? You’re muddying up the water here and I can’t see.”
“Sheesh. Fine. Aack, come back here Toady, where are you going?” Tad splashed away.
Hmph. Millie looked at the tiny creature swimming around in her jar. Even though she’d seen it happen before, it still amazed her that this squiggly slimy thing would turn into a little jumping frog. “Let’s find you some friends,” she told the little guy, and setting the jar on a rock, she quietly knelt down and waited. Finally, she saw two tadpoles hovering not far under the surface of the water. She cupped her hands under them and brought them slowly out of the water, then quick, she poured the water and two tadpoles into the jar. “That’s good for now,” thought Millie. The freezing water that came up to her knees was starting to make her whole body cold. Millie covered her jar with plastic wrap and made it tight with a rubber band. She would poke holes in it when she got home.
Millie held still and listened for her best friend. The world sounded strangely silent. No birds whistling. No frogs croaking. No Tad splashing. “Hey, uh, Tad?” Millie called out. “Taaaaad?” He couldn’t be far. Millie headed up stream, slowly at first because of the mossy rocks. She rounded the first bend in the creek. “Taaa-aad.” He had a habit of disappearing. Still, something seemed strange. Millie started to run. “Taaaad!” Her bare feet slipped and she fell with a huge splash. Her knees hit the rocks first, then her hands. She looked down and saw blood. Her jar of tadpoles was broken, and an inch-long shard of glass was sticking out of her ring finger. She sat up, wiped her eyes on her shoulders, and tried to blink away the tears and creek water that ran down her face. “One, two, three, pull!” She told herself, and the shard was out. It wasn’t deep.
Millie felt silly for getting scared. She was only a few hundred yards from her house. Tad probably got to daydreaming, forgot all about her, and wandered off to see some bird or make friends with a stray dog. Slowly, and carefully, she began to pick her way among the rocks, back downstream in the direction of her backpack.
“Hup!?” Millie gasped. The tree in front of her seemed to appear out of nowhere. And there was a door in it with a frog symbol where the knocker should have been. “No,” she corrected herself, “a toad symbol.” Millie put her hand up to the carved toad and began to trace her fingers around its bumpy body. The water suddenly jolted her forward pressing her hand hard against the carving. She heard a “ribbit,” and the door opened.
lundi 8 octobre 2007
Sick Monday
Sunday morning, I went to the market.
On the way, I saw:
One latino man kneeling quite seriously and respectfully behind John Travolta's star on Hollywood Boulevard while the guy with him took a photo.
One middle-aged man sweeping the sidewalk and singing along with the Iranian music blasting out of the store.
One poodle dressed in an outfit that made it appear to have human arms.
Many, many sex shops.
But, it was the produce that inspired me to pull out my camera.
After the market and an herb salad lunch, Orin and I set off on a hike.
A 9 mile hike. Ouch. But look how beautiful.
We got back after dark and decided to go taco-stand hopping. The first stand had a long and slow-moving line. Good sign. People were ordering for the whole family. 14 tacos, 20 tacos . The boy making the tacos chopped meat with one hand while putting tongue and tripe and what not in the steamer with the other, working so hard and so fast that I was captivated for the whole wait. Our tacos al pastor even got a bit of the roasted pineapple chopped up on top.
Next stop was for meat grilled over coals tacos. Unfortunately, when we were about three families from the front, the whole operation suddenly packed up and walked off, including everyone in line. Orin and I were left standing on the sidewalk alone, bewildered.
Third stop. the sweetest little old lady grilled our meat and made sure to ask us four times if it was one carne asada and one chorizo on the same plate and the other carne asada separate or if she should put two carne asadas on one plate and the chorizo on a separate one. When she saw us squatting by the wall to eat, she brought over milk crates for us to sit on.
We finished up with some beer and tequila at Orin's place.
It was all a lot better yesterday than it feels today.
On the way, I saw:
One latino man kneeling quite seriously and respectfully behind John Travolta's star on Hollywood Boulevard while the guy with him took a photo.
One middle-aged man sweeping the sidewalk and singing along with the Iranian music blasting out of the store.
One poodle dressed in an outfit that made it appear to have human arms.
Many, many sex shops.
But, it was the produce that inspired me to pull out my camera.
After the market and an herb salad lunch, Orin and I set off on a hike.
A 9 mile hike. Ouch. But look how beautiful.
We got back after dark and decided to go taco-stand hopping. The first stand had a long and slow-moving line. Good sign. People were ordering for the whole family. 14 tacos, 20 tacos . The boy making the tacos chopped meat with one hand while putting tongue and tripe and what not in the steamer with the other, working so hard and so fast that I was captivated for the whole wait. Our tacos al pastor even got a bit of the roasted pineapple chopped up on top.
Next stop was for meat grilled over coals tacos. Unfortunately, when we were about three families from the front, the whole operation suddenly packed up and walked off, including everyone in line. Orin and I were left standing on the sidewalk alone, bewildered.
Third stop. the sweetest little old lady grilled our meat and made sure to ask us four times if it was one carne asada and one chorizo on the same plate and the other carne asada separate or if she should put two carne asadas on one plate and the chorizo on a separate one. When she saw us squatting by the wall to eat, she brought over milk crates for us to sit on.
We finished up with some beer and tequila at Orin's place.
It was all a lot better yesterday than it feels today.
mardi 2 octobre 2007
A fine welcome home
Immediately upon arriving at LAX, I jumped on the Santa Barbara Airbus for one last romp before getting back to "real" life.
Linsey met me at the stop and whisked me off to a pedicure. Ahhh, clean, feet!
The next morning, after we had toast with chocolate sprinkles on it, for old-times sake,
she lent me her Volvo and I sat on the unusually not-foggy and not-windy Butterfly beach. Had the weather not reminded me later in the week that it is NEVER that nice in Santa Barbara, I may just not have returned to LA. Well, I studied my French vocab and listened to a violinist playing just off shore on his boat and felt I was really in some sort of paradise.
Terry cooked a delicious pot roast dinner with chocolate cake to follow and I spent the night in my most favorite and comfortable bed in the art room.
Never can I leave the Duddridge household without doing an art project. With Terry's supervision, I managed to mount the print Christoph gave me.
While getting supplies at the Carpinteria lumber yard, I ran into about five people I knew. Tom Jackson came up to me and said, "Are you related to Travis and Jimmy?" Well, I hesitated to answer that question without knowing why he asked, but there was something familiar about him and I fessed up.
I managed to squeeze in a visit to Pops and Kate before leaving town and got to hear bits about their trip to Sweden in the little gaps in my monologue about Paris where I paused to breathe in.
It felt great be welcomed back by everyone. I'm glad to have adopted such a good family.
Linsey met me at the stop and whisked me off to a pedicure. Ahhh, clean, feet!
The next morning, after we had toast with chocolate sprinkles on it, for old-times sake,
she lent me her Volvo and I sat on the unusually not-foggy and not-windy Butterfly beach. Had the weather not reminded me later in the week that it is NEVER that nice in Santa Barbara, I may just not have returned to LA. Well, I studied my French vocab and listened to a violinist playing just off shore on his boat and felt I was really in some sort of paradise.
Terry cooked a delicious pot roast dinner with chocolate cake to follow and I spent the night in my most favorite and comfortable bed in the art room.
Never can I leave the Duddridge household without doing an art project. With Terry's supervision, I managed to mount the print Christoph gave me.
While getting supplies at the Carpinteria lumber yard, I ran into about five people I knew. Tom Jackson came up to me and said, "Are you related to Travis and Jimmy?" Well, I hesitated to answer that question without knowing why he asked, but there was something familiar about him and I fessed up.
I managed to squeeze in a visit to Pops and Kate before leaving town and got to hear bits about their trip to Sweden in the little gaps in my monologue about Paris where I paused to breathe in.
It felt great be welcomed back by everyone. I'm glad to have adopted such a good family.
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