New Hustle, a Book & Chiffonade

Well, maybe it isn’t new exactly. But “a revived hustle” sounds like it might be wheezing, and that’s definitely not true. I’m ghostwriting, this time for some really brilliant women who are leaders in their fields. I had forgotten what it was like not to couch everything in friendly examples of things people might want to do, read, cook, or whatever, because who wants to be bossed around by a blog post? The fact is that nobody wants to be bossed around by a blog post EXCEPT WHEN THEY DO. And now I am getting to help experts I admire flex their authority through written work while I take their direction. I love it so much.

And more good news:

Image Courtesy of One More Row Press

My pattern, Continuous, inspired by the work of Ruth Asawa, and an essay of mine about her, is in the new book, I Knit San Francisco. I’m so delighted with this project, and I hope that you’ll pick up a copy for yourself or for your friends who are knitters. If you prefer an e-book, you can get it through Ravelry.

Finally, I am wrangling with a question right now. I’ve been cooking a lot from recipes in books recently, and to date, I have never published on this blog any recipe from a book that wasn’t already published somewhere online, unless I had permission from the author (like I got from David Asher when we were making cheese). I am not sure if this is too ethical a position, or what. I know there are some bloggers who link to cookbooks and also provide the particular recipe, adapted or not. Sometimes, this “sharing” encourages people to actually buy the cookbook, and I think that’s a great thing. My concern, though, lies in what seem to be the downsides of this “sharing” practice, including my giving away on the Internet something that isn’t mine to give (even if I manage technically to comply with copyright law).

Tricky, right? Or maybe not. Regardless, I want to share a terrific Kale Salad with Roasted Persimmons and Citrus Miso Dressing that I made after eating a similar salad at Firefly Restaurant. I was inspired to try to replicate it because it was so delicious and I had never thought of roasting persimmons. We’ve also been eating a lot of the Kale Caesar and Collard Greens salad from in the Six Seasons Cookbook. What can I say—I’m into well-prepared hearty greens.

And when I say well-prepared hearty greens, I mean kale or collards that have been cut into a chiffonade. This cutting technique makes it so enjoyable to eat these kinds of salads, and any other technique just doesn’t give as good a result.

Kale Salad with Roasted Persimmons and Citrus Miso Dressing

Ingredients:

• 3 Fuyu persimmons

• 2 bunches of dino (lacinato) kale

• 2 tablespoons of miso (any kind, but I used a pretty light one)

• The zest and juice of a couple of lemons

• Several tablespoons of toasted sesame seeds

• Olive Oil

• Kosher salt

Instructions:

First, roast the persimmons. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Remove the top and center core area of the persimmons, then chop the fruit into pieces that are close to 1/2” cubes. A little smaller and slightly wedge-shaped is also fine. Toss the pieces with a glug of olive oil and a sprinkle of kosher salt. Spread them on a sheet pan and roast them until they are soft and start to brown, about 20 minutes. Stir them once or twice while you’re roasting them. Remove them from the oven and let them cool.

Take two bunches of dino (lacinato) kale, remove the ribs, and cut all the leaves into a chiffonade (as described in the link above), where each ribbon is only about 1/8” wide. (You can then chop the strips crosswise, into smaller pieces, if you prefer your salad in small pieces.) Put the cut leaves in a large salad bowl, and in a separate small bowl, mix up a dressing that’s based on this really simple 2-ingredient one. Measure your miso, zest the citrus you plan to use, add the zest to the miso, and then add the juice to the mixture. Add 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil and mix well. Taste and adjust flavors as needed. Add the cooled, roasted persimmon pieces to the kale. Pour the dressing over the kale and roasted persimmons, toss well, and sprinkle with a lot of toasted sesame seeds (I used about 3 tablespoons, but see what works for you). Toss again and serve!

Capable

Do you know the book by George Saunders, The Very Persistent Gappers of Frip? The story is terrific, especially if you’re an adult or child who doesn’t mind imaginary things that are a little dark and awfully wonderful. The heroine is named Capable, and lately I’ve been wondering if she was about seven-and-a-half in that story. After all, seven and a half is many things, and sometimes, like I experienced yesterday, it’s just incredible capable.

Yesterday evening, after I brought Wyatt home from his sewing club, he went by our neighbor’s house to drop off a piece of cake, a holiday card, and a holiday gift bag of caramel corn. Then, he assembled our dinner (our version of spring rolls). He remarked I could just make the sauce which shouldn’t take that long, and then I could relax. I happily offered to set the table, too.

Eventually, we sat down to dinner, and about half-way through , Wyatt found he had a lot to say.

Mom. So we’re reading this book and learning about Jane Goodall. She spent TWO WHOLE YEARS watching chimpanzees! And she always wore the same kind of clothes. Tan shorts and a tan t-shirt, to blend in. And she got cut and she didn’t care. And she got scrapes and she didn’t care. She went to this one spot because she was there to dig for fossils, and she was like, ‘I’m going to dig for fossils and watch chimpanzees,’ and then I guess maybe she stopped paying attention to the fossils? I don’t know. But she was the first person to NOTICE that chimpanzees use TOOLS, like a blade of grass to pick out termites and eat them. All these other scientists had gone and looked and been like, ‘Those are chimpanzees doing regular chimpanzee things,’ but they didn’t stay to watch for TWO YEARS like she did, so they never saw them using tools.

Also? She’s still alive. I know you were wondering about that. And we saw two National Geographic videos of her. She’s old, with white hair and wrinkly skin, she always wears a ponytail, but she doesn’t move like an old person AT ALL. She said one time a Japanese woman came running to her with tears streaming down her face saying how much her work inspired her to go observe polar bears, WHICH SHE DID, she WENT and watched polar bears, and it became her work! Someone asked Jane Goodall what advice she’d give to kids, and she said that her mother always told her—haha, she’s British, right? So she says ‘motor car,’ and they didn’t have enough money for one, so they were really poor—her mother always told her if she wanted something she had to work hard for it. She had to read, and do the math, and do all the other things and work hard. She wasn’t even a trained scientist but she did all this work with chimpanzees! Also? When she came back home? SOME STUPID men [with a dismissive hand wave plus eye roll] didn’t believe she saw what she said she did. So she had to come back with some souvenirs to prove it to them. And then those STUPID MEN finally believed her.

She was eight during World War II. Her family knew war was coming so they moved to the countryside, but they still worried about being bombed. That would be so hard, spending all that energy every day worrying you’d be bombed at any time. How do you even LIVE like that? How old is she now? [I checked Wikipedia, and told him 84.] 84? So if she was 8 during World War II, that tells me World War II was . . . 84 minus 10, then add 2 . . . 75, 76 years ago. That was NOT very long ago. Not very long ago at all.

There’s some “progressive education” for you. Feminism, reslience, history, math, empathy, science, scientific methods, patience, and storytelling, to name some of the big concepts that jumped out at me from this glimpse into school on Monday.

I told Wyatt we learned about Jane Goodall when I was in school, too, and I agreed she did some great work. I added that now, scientists go out of their way not to interact with the animals the way Goodall did, because science has taught us we should give the animals their space. He looked at me as if I had mortally wounded his mother, and said, “She wasn’t HURTING them, and she wasn’t feeding them, like CEREAL or something. She was feeding them TERMITES. And the chimpanzees put their arms around HER. She wasn’t chasing them or something.” You know, like, pigeons and squirrels, I guess. I agreed, and I added that one of the best parts of science is that we’re always learning and then we can do even better at things. He changed the subject.

“Mom. I would really like to meet Jane Goodall.”

“I know, right? She’s pretty amazing. What would you want to ask her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe what it felt like to be there with the chimpanzees for TWO YEARS? Really, I’d just like to meet her.”

Just in case one of the important ingredients to having such a fabulous dinner conversation was the food, I’ll share the recipe with you.

The rolls Wyatt assembled were inspired by the recipes on the back of Happy Pho brown rice wrappers. We like the larger size wrappers because we can fit more in them. We used tofu (that I had pan fried, sprinkled with salt and sliced into strips), rice noodles (boil for about 2 minutes then drain and cool under running water), shredded cabbage, chopped mint, chives, and slivered cucumber. The dipping sauce is 1/4 cup each of water, rice vinegar, and soy sauce, 1/2 cup of nut (or sunflower) butter, a garlic clove, and 1/2 tablespoon of fresh ginger. Blitz all the ingredients in a blender until smooth.

Cultivating Our Yes Brain

"So are we not going to volunteer today because of that government money thing?"

"Yes. It's Congress' job to pass—agree on—a budget, and they haven't done that. Now, lots of people who work for the federal government can't go to work and earn money to pay for things they need, like food, or where they live. And we can't volunteer if the workers won't be there to tell us what they need us to do. I'm not sure if anyone will be at the garden today."

People talk about the benefits of volunteering. Even the United States Government talks about it on this page. You can't read it today, though, because of the government shutdown. A cached description of the page says, "Perhaps the first and biggest benefit people get from volunteering is the satisfaction of incorporating service into their lives and making a difference in their community and country. The intangible benefits alone—such as pride, satisfaction, and accomplishment—are worthwhile reasons to serve. In addition, when we share ..." I'm dying to know what happens when we share whatever it is. Meanwhile, we can add to the list of benefits, "The opportunity to discuss with your children important issues surrounding a government shutdown."

Fortunately, the shutdown did not impact the national day of service on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. And no, that link doesn't work today, either. We spent last Monday working in a different corner of the Presidio than usual. It was a truly wonderful day. The team at the Presidio knows better than anyone how to welcome, inspire, and educate volunteers. Their opening and closing circles included a short discussion of the history of the day, the importance of service, and how we were part of a larger, nationwide volunteer effort. The educational tables near the volunteer check-in included games where you match bird calls and eggs with the birds that make them, and a bulletin board to add your suggestions about how to improve your community.

Wyatt, a few friends, and I were in the family-friendly working group of about 25 people of varying ages and abilities. We were the Banana Slugs, and the kids made sure we earned our team name by finding as many banana slugs as they could. We directed our questions about what to weed, prune, and gather for compost to the gardeners who work in the Presidio every day. The kids peppered delighted educators with countless questions about critters and plants. And we all worked together to fill the dump truck with debris more than twice.

The organizers provided bagels, coffee and juice for breakfast, as well as lunch. I remarked to one of the gardeners how thoughtful it was of them to provide lunch at the end of the program. He explained they had decided that if people spent the whole morning working for free, and the program ended at lunch time, it was only right to provide lunch. After all, there aren't a lot of lunch options up in the Presidio, and a lot of people can't afford them anyway. Organizers brought in vegetarian and meaty pupusas and tamales along with plenty of curtido from Liquor Express & Deli on Geary Boulevard, a family-owned Salvadoran eatery. Our family is destined become regulars at that restaurant because the food was so good. I also like the idea of saying we got dinner from a place with the unlikely name, Liquor Express.

Regardless of what the (unavailable) government website suggests, "pride and satisfaction" are not the reasons we've continued volunteering this past year. We keep coming back to see the people and spaces we care about and to tackle new challenges. The work we do helps me show Wyatt how to live an open, creative and resilient life. And I had no idea this is what I was doing until I finished reading the new book, The Yes Brain, by Daniel J. Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson. The Yes Brain is nominally a parenting book, and it focuses on teaching parents and caregivers how to help children develop a Yes Brain. A Yes Brain has four key characteristics: balance, resilience, insight, and empathy. The book also teaches readers how to cultivate those four characteristics in themselves (it's not just for parents and caregivers). It's a quick, well-organized and engaging read. Because it's written by skilled authors with parents in mind, it's streamlined. They don't waste words, and they're gentle but direct. I ended up using a lot of the time I thought I'd be reading to reflect on what I was learning.

Read the book. It's totally worth your time. If nothing else, it may help to provide some context for why certain activities might be even more worthwhile than you had initially thought. For example, our volunteer work contributes to all four brain characteristics:

• Balance: Feeling like things are going right and you can handle yourself well. Volunteering gets us outside, and it helps us feel calm and useful.
• Resilience: Appreciating that situations in life can be difficult, challenge is okay, and the difficulties can make us stronger. While we're working, sometimes we mess up (or see others mess up), but we learn from the mistakes and we witness how group leaders meet the mistakes with kindness and gentle corrections. All of this goes a long way to helping everyone build resilience by feeling safe, seen, soothed, and secure.
• Insight: Recognizing your own emotional state before it overtakes you. Sometimes things get frustrating when you're working, and the low-pressure of volunteering allows the space to notice when you're feeling like a red volcano that's ready to blow.
• Empathy: Looking at someone with your heart, and noticing how that person is feeling. Fellow volunteers have different abilities and preferences, and you can observe a lot if you look with your heart. For example we can see and appreciate how someone with physical challenges prefers to weed in one spot while Wyatt would rather move around more, shoveling and moving rocks.

So good, right?

And for the days when any or all of these characteristics are lacking, but I stubbornly refuse to totally give up, I figure we can just eat more vegetables. Vegetables in the form of this Bok Choy Salad with Apple and Persimmon, for example. We've eaten this salad so many times already this winter, but somehow, I have no photos of it. I'll try to add a photo to this post later this week. If fuyu persimmons are elusive, we've used pomegranate seeds. I'm pretty sure it would also be good just with extra apple, too. (Edited on 1/25 to add the photo below!)

And in case you were wondering, we made it to the San Francisco Women's March on Saturday.

Ikea and Memory

Do you remember the first time you went to Ikea? I do. I was in high school, and I was on a summer exchange program in Oslo, Norway. My Ikea guides were two young Norwegian women who had befriended me and were shopping for furniture for their new apartment. I remember being totally bowled over by the size of Ikea, its blue exterior, the clean lines of all the designs, and how comfortable I felt trying everything out.

My memory of the shopping trip is still so vivid. It made such an impression on me that I thought for sure I had taken photos of it. But I looked back at my album, and there’s no sign of Ikea anywhere. In fact, there’s only one photo of my two friends, and it is of them with their new sofa(?), in a shop that’s not Ikea. I suppose at the time, the photo mattered because they had maybe accomplished their mission. Decades later, though, I can’t help but notice that I was really into taking photos of unremarkable things that were only worthy of forgetting. That is, except for the farty street signs (and you know the photo of the flowers is terrible if you have to label it "flowers.").

The second time I went to Ikea was when I went to college. I was with friends looking for bookshelves when I suddenly realized I had been there before, only in Oslo. I hadn’t bothered to remember “Ikea” because I thought the store was a Scandanavian thing I’d never see again. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Memory is such a funny thing. Some memories are so vivid, some just disappear, and there are the hazy ones where you know you were there because there’s a photo of it. There is also all the science that tells us that every time we retrieve a memory, it changes, so we can’t really trust that we remember everything exactly as it happened. Right? Maybe. But for the purposes of real life, getting hung-up on the very specific details is to miss the bigger picture. I mean, if your boss jerked-off in front of you, his aiming into a potted plant is a good detail, but totally not the point.  I’m so glad that, this week, from my perspective, people seem to be believing more victims’ accounts than usual. As I read all the #MeToo statuses on social media and reflect on my own #MeToo, I realize that I’ve always assumed that every woman I have ever met has been, at the very least, sexually harassed during her life, and likely worse. We’ve all learned to deal with it. “Dealing” takes many forms, including tolerating, ignoring, avoiding, and getting therapy. Consider all that daily effort by so many women, while the perpetrators carry on as usual with the patriarchy’s support. Do you remember the first time you experienced or witnessed harassing behavior? It starts early. I remember in second grade being told to “grow a tougher skin” so the daily, stomach-churning harassment of a boy could continue but wouldn’t bother me. After all, the refrain of the grown-ups was, “Aww. It's fine. He just likes you!” Unchecked, bad behavior of course only gets worse. Like in seventh grade wood shop when the boys would surround me, the only girl, to taunt me with talk and gestures of blow-jobs while the teacher hid in his office. I eventually transferred into an art class. And then there's what we deal with as high schoolers, and as grown-ups. We must raise better boys, and we must also hold accountable the grown-ups who are behaving terribly.

But let me get back to Ikea. Memories of Ikea. And the reality of Ikea today! I hadn’t been to Ikea in years, but we took Wyatt this weekend. As far as I can tell, Ikea has only changed for the better since I was there last. The small living spaces with perfectly arranged, just colorful enough furniture and accessories make me feel like I could totally move in. I mean, there are even clothes hanging in the closets.

We weren’t shopping, but we did buy hangers and dishtowels (I dare you to go to Ikea and buy nothing), and Wyatt got a stubby pencil and catalog as souvenirs. More importantly, though, Wyatt left with context for Catherine Newman's One Mixed-Up Night, which he has now heard twice. I read it to him the first time and Marc the second time. “Didn’t you love it?” I asked Marc. “It’s one of the saddest books I’ve ever read. But yes, it’s great,” he responded. While I didn’t find it that sad, I do understand where Marc’s coming from. No spoilers here, so you’ll have to read and decide for yourself.

This trip to Ikea, I didn’t forget to take photos.

And in further recognition of Catherine Newman's work, and my own need to not spend a moment more in the kitchen than absolutely necessary, we ate nachos for dinner on Sunday. Her nacho cheese sauce is really good. Our somewhat unconventional toppings included tomatoes, chopped fermented dill green beans, hearts of palm, lettuce, pepperoncini, and black beans. Weird salad on chips. With nacho cheese sauce! You know you want to try it.

Mixed-Up, Frangipane, and X-Ray Spex

"So, we're going to swimming now, right?"

"No! Your teacher texted me and said he'd see us next week."

"Why? Was there poop in the pool?"

"No, he has athlete's foot."

"Oh. What's...Af-leaf's foot again?"

"A foot fungus."

"Oh, right. And he doesn't want other people to get it?"

"Right. So we have the WHOLE AFTERNOON ahead of us! We could finish our book, we could make that fruit tart thing you wanted to make, or we could make jam. What do you want to do?" [UNNATURALLY LONG PAUSE]

"Wyatt. What do you think?"

"I'm sitting here in the back of the car with my mouth open trying to trick you that I had a heart attack. Honestly, I can't decide. I want to do everything."

"ME, TOO!"

We opted to make a Summer Fruit Galette and dinner (we could eat mostly galette for dinner, but we couldn't eat only galette), and because the beans I was cooking for dinner took way longer than I had thought they would, we had extra-extra time to read more of Catherine Newman's new book, One Mixed-Up Night. In very broad strokes, the book is a story of two twelve-year old best friends who share a deep love of IKEA and plot to spend the night there. You know, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler-style.

It's possible I should have saved One Mixed-Up Night until Wyatt was older, but I doubt it. I can guarantee he will read it again because on at least six separate occasions, he laughed so hard he fell off the sofa and breathlessly declared, "THIS is the FUNNIEST book I have EVER read. I am SO GLAD YOU GOT IT, MOM." I am also glad I got it. It's funny, heartwarming, sad, and somehow, as only Catherine Newman can, entirely irreverent and yet totally respectful at the same time.

Wyatt's totally on to me, too. He knows when he can wheedle another chapter (or three, or seven) out of me. I have no discipline when it comes to chapter books like this one. As I confessed to him, it was all I could do not to sneak into his room after he was asleep and gobble it up on my own, without him. He gave me the side-eye. "But you DIDN'T do that, right?" I didn't. It took all my willpower, but I didn't.

Speaking of willpower, it's all I can do right now not to eat the rest of our Summer Fruit Galette. I have watched a few seasons of The Great British Baking Show, where they're always baking frangipane this and frangipane that, and I was very much of the WHO EVEN CARES because what-is-it-anyway-I'm-guessing-some-almond-paste-thing attitude. But I was intrigued. Imagine my delight to see that in the galette recipe I chose to use up our too many plums and weirdly ripening nectarines, we'd have to make frangipane! Let me just say, frangipane is marvelous, and I regret that I have spent so much of my life frangipane-free. We used Gluten Free Girl's pie crust for our galette, and while it basically worked, it was awfully crumbly. It was delicious, but not at all sturdy. I guess what I'm saying is that Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood would have low-key forever shamed me for the crust, but it was more than fine by us. (Do any of you have a terrific gluten-free pie crust to share? I'm struggling, and my sensible child who lacks baking pride asked me this week why I didn't just buy the frozen ones from Whole Foods because it would have been so much easier...)

While we made the galette, we listened to X-Ray Spex's Germfree Adolescents. We've been checking out all the musical artists featured in Rad Women Worldwide, and so far, Wyatt loves Poly Styrene the best. Imagine my surprise when the first track started playing, and Wyatt was like, "I KNOW this one! They played it at Rock Band Land this summer while we were coming in at the beginning of the day."

Frangipane, a good book, and gratitude for other peoples' thoughtful influence on your child: Some days, you feel like you're winning because you actually are.

So Long, Summer

We had a great summer, full of fun camps and new friends for Wyatt, and room for creativity with less driving for me. We closed summer out with a truly wonderful family vacation. Then, back to school arrived with a clattering crash. We're all still adjusting.

When Wyatt was a toddler, I remember complaining bitterly about how hard transitions were. Getting from one place to another, literally and figuratively, when he was a preschooler, was daunting. And you know what? I was too hard on him. Transitions suck for everyone, including me.  I mean, surely you noticed there was no blog post last week. Oh, you didn't? I'm sure you're in good company. I was too deeply in mourning over the end of summer and too busy trying to finish a knitting project to write anything.

Wyatt has been back in school for 7 days; today, he is home sick. Such is the magic of back-to-school. Usually, sick days are pretty boring, but this morning we were treated to a naked guy doing a high-step-saunter past our house. My neighbor called to tell me about him, and to suggest we not go outside just then. Such a good neighbor.

Of course I'll take naked-sauntering-guy (or just boring) over the storms and floods so many people are dealing with right now. Climate change is real, and the effects are intense.

Last week, in recognition of the end of summer and library due dates, I returned the final third of our summer reading list. All the books were, once again, terrific. In reading to Wyatt, I learned about music and musicians I knew little about (I And I, Esquivel! Space Age Sound Artist, Jimi: Sounds Like a Rainbow), and Wyatt began to understand about boycotts (Joelito's Big Decision). Wyatt said his favorite book of this group was I And I. He isn't sure why, but I can guess it's because the poetry and illustrations were so beautiful, and because the prose explanations were so clear. We're still reading Rad Women Worldwide, so we renewed that one.

Lest anyone think I only read picture books this summer, I let me assure you that's not true. I joined Audible a few months ago and have recently finished listening to the audio version of the novel, Homegoing, and the podcast, The Butterfly Effect. They're totally different types of work (obviously), but I found both totally engrossing. I also listened to The Sympathizer (it was fine), and Between the World and Me (an absolute must-read-or-listen). Also, I enjoyed Lincoln in the Bardo with my eyes instead of my ears, but I understand the audio recording is remarkable.

I just started reading The Cooking Gene. I had the pleasure of hearing the author, Michael Twitty, speak at Omnivore Books recently. He was so engaging in person, I wondered how his written word would compare. I'm so delighted that his writing is equally captivating. As one reviewer put it,

Should there ever be a competition to determine the most interesting man in the world, Michael W. Twitty would have to be considered a serious contender. Twitty, a self-taught independent culinary historian who lives in Rockville, Md., is partial to dressing in the period attire of antebellum slaves, picking tobacco to get a sense of how his African American ancestors once lived and cooking using ancient methods so fiery that he singes the hair off his arms and eyebrows. He is a man of substantial girth — and proud of it. He has described himself as “four time blessed” — 'large of body, gay, African American and Jewish.'"

There's a fascinating interview with Mr. Twitty on Civil Eats here. And you can buy a copy of the Cooking Gene (signed even!) from Omnivore Books, or wherever you like to buy your books.

Speaking of food, well-meaning friends suggested that after a week of vacation in a hotel, where I couldn't cook, I'd be so happy to get back to it when we got home. Guess what? They were wrong. I didn't miss it even once, and getting back to it has been kind of annoying. I have, however, made one new dish, thanks to my aunt's urging. You all know I am no fan of substitute foods (zuchhini as noodles, for example), but this Spice Merchant Cauliflower Couscous is terrific.  I doubt it tastes like couscous, but it looks a little like it, and is a delicious way to prepare cauliflower. Against my better judgment, I even included the golden raisins, and they were actually good. I know. This recipe is breaking all my rules. I'm going to make it again this week.

The Latest: News and Knitting

This week's blog post was going to be entirely about the knitting patterns I released into the wild late last week. But this weekend, white supremacists descended on Charlottesville, and through their acts of terrorism, they severely injured and killed people, including Deandre Harris and Heather Heyer. The president has, once again, shown us who he is by failing to immediately denounce the neo-Nazis and their actions. I wish I were shocked.

I've read great pieces about how we can respond to the events in Charlottesville, including this one, and this one, about how to talk to children about it.

But a "what happened in Charlottesville" conversation is a tiny part of the ongoing conversation we (and when I say "we," I mean white people, in particular) need have every day with our children. Hate mongers don't get to decide when I address racism (or any other societal scourge) with Wyatt. So today? We continued reading Rad Women Worldwide. We read about Sophie Scholl and the White Rose. Sophie's story is inspiring, remarkable, and so worth your time. I hadn't heard it before this week. Here are some of the things we discussed in connection with our reading:

• "Wait. So she JOINED the Nazis? Didn't she know they were bad?" (She joined because she didn't know what they were about. When she learned they were about hatred and inequality, she fought them.)
• "I'm smiling right now because she was so brave making those papers and leaving them around--she could have been arrested for that!" (YES!)
• "Do the people that hate always lose? Like in that war we talked about, the one before the enslaved people were free, and in this one, the Nazis lost. But if they lose, they don't always get killed, right? So there are still some of those kinds of people around." (Right. We've talked about them before. People who hate other people because their skin is a different color, for example.)
• "Hang on. So those Nazi people liked people like them. And I'm white like them, so they'd like me, right?" (Ah. Good point. They might. But they don't like people who stand up for others, either. I know it feels good when people like us. But it's okay, and sometimes it's really good, not to be liked. You're safe. Your dad and I and other grown-ups keep you safe. There are a lot more people (like us) who believe in equality and fairness, and we win because we work together.)

We win because we work together. May it be so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In lowercase "n" news, I published some patterns last week. (No, there aren't any good transitions from Nazis to knitting. Trust me. I've looked.) My Coastal Urban Trails Collection includes patterns for three accessories inspired by the rugged beauty (and fog!) of San Francisco’s beaches, parks, and open spaces. All three patterns include two versions: one for a bulky yarn and one for a lighter weight yarn.

There's a hat, Nest: Dove (in O-Wool Chunky Merino) and Hummingbird (in O-Wool Local).

There's a cowl, Strata: Mountain (in O-Wool Legacy Bulky) and Sand (in Sincere Sheep Equity Sport).

And there are also boot cuffs!  Footpath: Stroll (in O-Wool Legacy Bulky) and Hike (in Sincere Sheep Equity Sport).

Nest and Strata use a technique called helix knitting (or helical stripes) (like a barber pole!) in their construction. I have included how-to instructions and a link to a video, too. It's hard for me to believe I've been working on these patterns since the winter; no one ever said I was efficient or prolific in this new occupation. I am pretty excited to see how much people enjoy knitting and wearing them.

(If you're so inclined, each pattern is available individually in my Ravelry store, and the ebook containing all three is 15% off through the end of August.)

More Summer Reading!

What is the first book about a person of color that you remember reading as a child?

I answered that question for myself last week as Wyatt and I continued enjoying the books on our summer reading list.

Our summer reading list, which I've mentioned before and will mention again, is excellent. Without exception, we've enjoyed every book, and each one has given us something to discuss. Our list includes about thirty books. I've been requesting ten or so books off the list at a time from the library. Why so many? I feel unbelievably rich walking out of the library with a giant stack of books in my arms. Also, it's fun when Wyatt opens his eyes wide and grins so hard to see how many of the books on the hold shelf are for him

Many of the books we picked up in the first third of our list were about music. I can't even say which Wyatt liked more than another. We read all of them several times. Wyatt does keep talking about borrowing Sweet Music In Harlem again, though--it's a really fun story. My Name Is Celia/Me llamo Celia: The Life of Celia Cruz/la vida de Celia Cruz got us listening to lots of salsa music and prompted Wyatt to ask me why, when it comes to famous people of color, the story starts out with white people not liking the person, but by the end, white people love the person.

We're in the middle of reading the second third of the books (see the photo above). Some stand-outs so far include: Daniel's Ride (featuring a '63 Impala), Ruby's Wish (a true story), and Hip Hop Speaks to Children (a music CD!). I found President Barack Obama's Of Thee I Sing incredibly moving, and Wyatt was into it, but found fault with the last page that says America is made up of people of every kind. After studying the illustration, he said, "There aren't any disabled people in the picture. Maybe that girl in the front who's holding the other girl's arm is disabled? But there aren't any people in wheelchairs." Good point, I thought. We went on to discuss how sometimes you can't see peoples' disabilities, but we were left curious why the illustrator opted not to depict someone in a wheelchair.

The two collections of stories we've read, Her Stories: African American Folk Tales, Fairy Tales, and True Tales  and The Girl Who Helped Thunder and Other Native American Folktales might be the best books of all, in part because they last longer than the single-story picture books. Wyatt will sit for over an hour just listening to me read, absorbing the magic of the stories and identifying with the characters in them. He listens so intently that he has noticed parallels between stories. For example, he observed how greedy, selfish people turned into owls in the Wiyot tale, "Why Owl Lives Away From The People," and in the supernatural African American tale "Who You!" I had missed that similarity. (In my defense, it's easier to read critically when you're not the one who's reading aloud.) I was impressed with his observation. How interesting that in some traditions, owls are considered conniving, greedy and selfish. I had only ever seen them portrayed as aloof and wise.

Then again, owls might only be aloof and wise for white, western storytellers like A. A. Milne. And that's kind of the point of our summer reading list. The books we read help inform our view of the world. I want Wyatt's view to be many things, including broad, open, honest, empathetic, and embracing of race, culture, and differences. The stories we have been reading support all of those values and invite Wyatt to consider himself in relation to the individuals in the stories.

Meanwhile, all these stories contrast sharply with the first book about a person of color that I recall from my own childhood. That book was Little Black Sambo. I went digging around for it last week while Wyatt was at camp and found my copy buried in the back of a closet. I reread it by myself, cringing at how truly ignorant and racist it is, and thinking how even if you somehow gave it new illustrations and revised it to avoid the ignorance and racism, the story would still be pretty dumb. I'm not alone in this opinion. My copy should not have survived as many moves as it did, and it should not have escaped our annual Spring Cleanings, either. My excuse? I was embarrassed to own the book and embarrassed to throw it away, lest someone else find it and keep it.

But there's no room for paralysis when it comes to harboring racism, especially racism in the form of picture books. I'm pleased to report that the book is now gone. To be clear: I am no book burner; I am a book shredder. After all, there are so many worthy books that deserve shelf space (or even back of closet space) instead of that one.

Summer Reading

"MO-OM. Why are you SAD? Stop crying!"

Yes, sometimes I cry at picture books. Especially beautiful ones, at a page where a dad is packing his daughter's stuff into the car so he can drive her out of the city, away to college, and he needs that really useful piece of rope the family relied on years ago when they left South Carolina for New York.

"It just makes me sad to think of when you'll be ready to leave, that's all." (Stifled sob.)

"Stop it, Mom. This is not a sad book."

The callousness of a six-year old can be astonishing. Anyway. This Is the Rope: A story from the Great Migration is wonderful, and if you're me, it's also pretty moving. Wyatt, on the other hand, mostly loved the detailed illustrations, especially the ones of the children. He was also impressed with one of the later illustrations, where the mom has just come home from work and is teaching her daughter the "Miss Lucy" jump rope song.

We've checked out a bunch of books to read, all pulled from the list my friend gave me this spring. Wyatt will be getting his San Francisco Public Library Summer Stride prize in no time!

(My own reading has been put on hold for a bit while I finish a mess of work on some knitting patterns. Next for me is finishing Mo' Meta Blues and then diving into Lincoln in the Bardo.)

What are you reading this summer?

Roadworks Steamroller Printing Festival

"My favorite part was the STEAMROLLERS!"

Of course it was. How could it have been anything else?

Every year, The San Francisco Center for the Book puts on this terrific, free event. It is part fundraiser (through the sale of the steamroller prints), part education, and part hands-on fun. For some unfathomable reason, this is the first year we have ever attended.

My favorite part was the entire event. There are few things I enjoy more than fonts, hand lettering, or enormous, heavy, mechanical tools that look like they could kill you but, in their highest and best use, make beautiful things. I'm in awe of the people who can use them and of the works they create.

And Wyatt is right. The steamroller printer was pretty amazing. As he remarked as we were walking up, the whole street smelled as if people had been lighting sparklers all morning. So festive! We arrived early, and Wyatt got as close as he possibly could to the steamrollers. One of the drivers let him throw coal into the fire. If you want to see a steamroller making the first print of the day, I posted a video of it here.

Outside on Rhode Island Street, there were printing tables, artists, vendors, and examples of all the steamroller prints you could purchase.

The Rhinoceros Project, a "participatory watermark sewing circle," was also set up outside. As the creators explain on their website, 

We will produce [our watermark of Albrecht Durer’s 1515 woodblock “The Rhinoceros”] through hand sewing on silk. Using embroidery stitches on fabric, we will recreate Durer’s Rhinoceros line-by-line, enlarged to life size. In order to achieve this goal, we are embarking on a series of participatory sewing circles, taking place at San Francisco locations such as Ramon’s Tailor and the San Francisco Center for the Book. When complete, the watermark will be stretched on a frame, and paper pulp will be poured into the frame to create our Rhinoceros watermark in handmade paper.  We aim to make a total of three, referencing the remaining three Northern White rhinoceri.

I participated, naturally. My little line of sewing is the very tidy one. The part I liked best about this project is that some people sat down, watched, and then said, "I want to help, but I don't know how to do it!" and the project creators taught anyone who was interested how to embroider the lines of the enormous rhinoceros.

Inside The Center for the Book, there were volunteers helping people make prints on all kinds of machines, other volunteers explaining what the various machines did, and a book petting zoo.

Marc, Wyatt and I left wanting to learn how to physically make a book using all of the tools we saw. But one of us isn't yet old enough to take a class at The Center for the Book. Fortunately, we learned we can visit more machines at The American Bookbinding Museum downtown. Yet another gem I never knew existed. I love San Francisco.

Curiosity, Nature, and Knitting

Last week didn't feel like a series of days for me. It felt like a bunch of fragments that never seemed to add up to anything useful. All fits and starts, with ten minutes here, twenty minutes there, and by Wednesday, I finally accepted that it was probably going to be one of those weeks where I'd get nothing real accomplished.

But I was wrong! First of all, I got some reading done.

Since October 2015, I have read exactly two books. Abysmal, I know. I used to read all the time, and now? Knitting fills my eyes while podcasts fill my ears. I know, I know—audio books!—but I have yet to warm to them.

The book I started in October and finished last week was Proof: The Science of Booze, by Adam Rogers. Don't let my many months of reading it fool you—it was an absolutely terrific read. I highly recommend it to anyone with any interest in alcoholic beverages or science.

The second book I read, I started on Thursday, neglected it over the weekend, and finished it on Monday. I could not stop reading it (and reporting the most interesting parts to Wyatt and Marc). The book is Unseen City: The Majesty of Pigeons, the Discreet Charm of Snails & Other Wonders of the Urban Wilderness, by Nathanael Johnson. I heard about it on one of my favorite podcasts, 99% Invisible.

This is a book I wish I could have read during the years when I was walking around with baby (and later, toddler) Wyatt. Back then, I had a child who loathed his car seat and his stroller. His screaming was ear-splitting, and heartbreakingly frustrating. No loving words, kind pats or white-noise app on my phone could soothe him. As a result, I drove sparingly and spent hours walking with him in one baby carrier or another all around the neighborhood. As Wyatt became more aware of his surroundings, he'd start to point at things he noticed. "Tree!" I'd say. Or "Flower!" depending on where it looked like his chubby finger was directed. And as he grew older, he would hear a bird chirping and sign, "Bird." So I'd say "Bird!" But as the months rolled by and our urban nature walks continued, I became acutely aware of how few types of trees, plants, or birds I could identify. I went so far as to research whether there were urban nature walks where someone would identify things for you while you strolled, so I could learn. Sadly, all walks I found directly competed with nap time, so I never went, and I didn't pursue my curiosity further.

Nathanael Johnson, on the other hand, took a very similar experience with his daughter and turned it into a way of appreciating the "Urban Wilderness." He followed his curiosity, studying the "boring" or even "disgusting" plants and creatures we find everywhere in our urban landscapes. Then he wrote about them so engagingly and informatively that I finished his entire book in just two sittings.

I think this book grabbed my attention because, in addition to my early urban nature walks with Wyatt and our ongoing fascination with bugs, slugs, and plants, I sometimes feel torn between city life and what I imagine country life must be like (thanks, Instagram!) I struggle with the whole "Be Here. Now." thing in our busy, tech-driven city. As it turns out, there doesn't need to be a struggle, you just have to start actually seeing things. Thanks to a narrative that's as informative and persuasive as it is funny, I followed Johnson on his own journey of learning about turkey vultures, snails, squirrels, ginkgo trees, crows, and more. As I saw how we can connect with the natural world, I felt more compelled than ever to start exploring. Cities (with green spaces) are teeming with nature, and believing that I have to go out to the wilderness to experience nature is just silly.

As Johnson wrote on pages 63-64,

We see what we expect to, what we have a name for, what pops immediately into our heads. But confirmation of the expected is boring, and false. Life only becomes interesting when you watch it closely enough to see something surprising, and with that surprise come a little closer to the real thing. That, I suppose, is the point of this book: to allow people to see past their expectations. When actual seeing pierces the skin of habituation, if only for a moment, it permits a bit of wonder to bleed through.

Marc, Wyatt and I have decided to follow Johnson's helpful and remarkably practical recommendations for becoming "Neighborhood Naturalists."  We have binoculars and can easily find a magnifying glass. It will be fun to keep a journal and identify one species a month. And Wyatt already determined in preschool the rampant weed he loves to eat (sour grass), so he's ahead of us in that regard.

But I didn't only get reading done this week! I also had the most amazing Saturday at Kira K Design's knitting retreat at the Marconi Conference Center. I received the most inspiring introduction to Fair Isle knitting from Janine Bajus (The Feral Knitter, and photos of some of her amazing designs appear below), learned all about pattern adjustment from Kira, and connected with some other truly wonderful entrepreneurs, including Sunni Scrivner, who owns the the shop Yarn, in Eureka, and designs her own patterns, Maria Isabel, who owns A Needle Runs Through It and makes terrific project bags, and Brooke Sinnes, the woman behind Sincere Sheep and the yarns I love so much. The setting was beautiful, and the company was the best.

More than that, nature was everywhere! including in our classroom, when a terrified-looking hummingbird found itself in the track lighting and could not determine a way out. Luckily for the bird, one of my classmates had handled similar situations before and carefully carried it out of the classroom after it collapsed and fell to the floor. Seemingly no worse for the wear, it buzzed off after catching its breath while perched on a flowering bush (the name of which I of course do not know...yet).