Weird brocolli at the Farmer's Market.

Under the Santa Monica Pier, looking inland.

D and I went to Santa Monica to see the Ashes and Snow exhibit. It was well worth it.
The building itself was very interesting...it's made of big containers, etc. The exhibit was amazing. The lighting inside made it very intimate.
I was drawn in at first because I am very much moved by animals. I believe in protecting them and their environments and I have deeply loved the animals I've had as pets.
That said, the photos and films are of people interacting with animals, with no explanation so that a person will not be directed as to how to interpret the images. It's beautiful, but ultimately I found it disquieting to see people interacting with dangerous animals like cheetahs and wild African dogs. A friend of mine saw this and thought it was just beautiful and said something about how people and animals should be interacting, implying maybe that we would interact in these ways if we were in the correct frame of mind.
To me it was another confirmation of just how far we are from our natural roots. We are, at best, competators with some of these creatures as far as the food chain goes. Yes, gorgeous to see the woman and kids on the dunes with the wild cats, but don't try this at home. The cats had the good sense to get up and move when the wind started kicking up sand. Not the humans. They were being all soulful for the camera.
I'd like to see this guy put his dreamy humans next to veal calves or force fed chickens. I think he may be perpetuating myths about animals that don't really help.

My intention was to get a photograph of the dozens of birds on and around this SUV in a grocery store parking lot.
But photography turns out to be a lot like writing. You can’t really get where you want to go by showing something in a general way. Although you can’t tell from this shot that there were fifty or sixty birds right near by, this is a truer image than the first pictures I took here. You have to delve into the intimacy of a scene, whether it’s for a story or a photograph in order to get to the truth of it.
Just as in writing, the truly interesting details are seldom the ones you had in mind when you started. Those you find along the way.

In our yard, no less! It snowed quite heavily for an hour or more, while D and I pranced around taking snapshots. It was just gorgeous. Big fluffy flakes coming down. I’d forgotten the SOUND of falling snow. It’s so lovely and peaceful.
We were afraid we’d get snowed or iced in, but the sun came out around 10am and it all melted away. Great torrents of melt washed off the roof.

This is something I have to do. I have to embrace ambition.
There’s this whole THING with writers and artists about being noble and wanting to create are for the sake of the art. And, yes, on the spiritual level, I want to create something that pleases me, and speaks for me, and helps people think about their own lives. But I also want to create something that’s commercially viable.
I love the art of Alfonse Mucha and Maxfield Parrish. I used to argue with art student friends about guys like them, who were not considered true artists because their art helped sell theater tickets or gelatin.
Is “To Kill a Mockingbird” any less great art because it sold so well? It would be an honor to touch so many people and say something that matters to them.
Just writing this makes me feel VERY uncomfortable. I need to get over this and be okay with crafting and selling my work. With trying harder.
Just look at that image, and tell me that’s not art. How come Vermeer is considered a true artist when he painted portraits on commission? All famous painters paint for money on some level.
Any advice on overcoming this issue of being ashamed of ambition will be much appreciated.






We were invited to make tamales with D’s cousin’s girlfriend’s family this year. Had a great time! I’d never done this before. Tamales are my favorite traditional Mexican food, and they’re a bit complicated to make, but well worth it, I now know.
S made the chicken and pork ahead, so all we had to do was stuff the ojas (corn husks) with the masa, meat and an olive. We made almost 10 dozen all together, not including a few dozen sweet tamales to use up the masa. Took them home to steam them, since there were so many and it takes a few hours.
I have a dozen each of chicken, pork and sweet tamales. Lucky me! Now, all I have to do is refrain from eating them three times a day until I run out!
We were also able to pick oranges from their trees!

All the way to Toronto! His mom brought him in for me to play with today. What a doll. He even had the good grace to remember me and not be afraid of me. Pretty darn good for 13 months!
Tomorrow’s his mom’s last day here. She’s moving her little family up to Toronto to work in our small company’s even smaller Canadian office. She will be much missed. (No more book lunches!) But we'll keep in touch through her blog, if nothing else...see the link to An American InToronto? Yeah, that's her.
Baby N was in our office every day for about 4 months, and I got to take lots of baby breaks with him. You can’t tell here, but his skin is absolutely perfect and glowing.
Just like his little spirit.

There was an accident on the 14, so I took Little Tujunga Canyon through the mountains. It takes longer because it’s 17 miles of very twisty roads. But it was just beautiful yesterday. Warm enough to have the windows down. It's nice to have options.
I stopped at Bear Divide to take this photo of my little car enjoying it’s outing. I have to love places with names like Bear Divide.
Close up of the trees that are in the background of the first photo. Last of the light coming down the valley.

As the sun sank behind the San Gabriel Mountains, MGS and I met to catch up with each other and to write.
We were on a writing date. Basically, we talked about how the work’s been going for us, then got down to writing. It’s nice to sit across a table and offer each other a little respect for the time and effort. Afterward, we read what we’d been working on to each other.
I always get a lot out of the conversations before and after writing. She’s working on an amazing book, and I’m always thrilled to hear snippets of it. Can’t wait to pluck it off a shelf in a bookstore and say, “Hey, I KNOW her!”
It’s going to happen.

It’s the one that I rescued from my boss’s desk. So it gives me even more than the usual pleasure to see it blooming.
African violets are really pretty easy once you figure out that they need to have water around their roots all the time and be fed regularly. I wish more things were this simple.
No matter how many books they sell on the topic, there is no formula for a fabulous novel, or memoir, or short story. There are elements that will surely help them along, but they have to be infused with a life beyond the words on the page.
Maybe those of us who write need to be willing to risk our hearts to give the tales their own breath.

Following our honorary nephew out of our neighborhood. He stayed with us a few days before heading down to Laguna Hills/Irvine where he’ll live and work. He just arrived from Indiana. He’ll be staying with D’s cousin during his internship, and then hopefully staying on after the three months for the job.
He's been very interested in all the classic cars you see on the road out here, and how there's no rust damage!

Well, part of it anyway. Just some of the stuff hanging on the divider behind my desk.
I met this guy at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, and I thought, “I’d like to have lunch with him.” That’s sort of my test of how much I like a character in a book or a film, whether I’d take the opportunity to have lunch with her or him.
Maurice-Quentin de La Tour painted this self-portrait in 1764. Doesn’t he look like fun? I think I’d actually bump the date up to a dinner. And drinks after.
Maybe even dancing.

Made by one of my honorary nephews many years ago. I still have it on my backpack.
I put away my backpack a couple of years ago. Trying to carry more adult-looking bags. But I brought it out of the closet for my trip to Indiana and I’m hooked again. Lightweight, easy to manage compartments, and plenty of room for the papers, books, and notebooks I have never stopped carrying around.
My name is Sundry, and I am a backpack addict.

Snapped on the 10 freeway while D was driving.
This sign seems very optimistic to me, for some reason. I like that everything’s written there twice. I exchanged a smile with the driver as we passed him.
The sun was going down as we hit downtown L.A. We'd been to Frank Wilkinson's memorial over on Adams Boulevard. It was an emotional and inspirational celebration of his life.