I Wish

I wish life had a Control Z.

If life did, I would study French and Art History in college.

I would find a job in New York, love it and love living there.

I would go for my Master's degree right after my Bachelor's.

I would have kept up with ballet and been a dancer.

I would learn a LOT earlier to disregard worrying. To not stress. To not care, mostly at all, about what others think about me. (Side story: Job interview, 1978, after graduation from Ohio State University J-school. Some newspaper editor type. Asks me what I want to do. Me, I say, I think I'd like to try the Foreign Service. Newspaper editor type: Well, that concerns me. Blah blah, can I be committed to journalism? Me: Fumbling and embarrassed for not seeming committed to SOMEONE ELSE'S career path. "Well, uh, I, uh, oh, um." Thanks pal. Nice life lesson and way to just have your cake and eat it too at the expense of a naive 21-year-old.

Jerk.

However, no Control Z on life. So, I decided tonight, while walking the greyhounds, no more wanting something else, as in some vague "What I want from life."

I think I am going to stop wanting. It is too tiring. Rather, I accept that opportunities were missed (how is that for the weasel-i-est of phrasing: my fault? parents fault? advisors' fault?) and now is the time to just be prepared for opportunity. Be prepared in all of the things that I wanted (except dance, too old) and if opportunity arises, great. If not, I like what I do, am paid well for it and shall be satisfied with that.

And that, I think, is a real feat.

Half a mushroom, or, expectations, great and otherwise

Vacation. My husband and I visited my Mom for a few days earlier this month. Quiet, except for the rattle of turnpike noise nearby, and relaxing. Sister-in-law Edye joined us for an afternoon and dinner and told a funny story about her son, Stephen.

He was home, she left out the ingredients for a new meatloaf recipe and suggested he put it together. It had more than the usual amount of veggies.

So, Steve makes the meatloaf, it's delish and then Edye looks in the fridge and sees a package of mushrooms torn open. Recipe called for half a cup but there's barely a dent made in the package. Plastic shrink wrap ripped open and maybe a couple mushrooms removed.

Edye asks Steve about it. Sure, he says. Recipe called for "half a mushroom."

Mom asks son to cook. Mom's been cooking for years and knows how to read a recipe. Young-brained male son willing to try, maybe not so careful reading recipe.

Result? Open package of mushrooms in the fridge with a half a mushroom taken out, Mom totally amused by the whole thing and a family who gets to hear the story over again, and laugh along with her.

Family lore is born.

We ask others to do things for us all the time, or ask questions, or make gestures, based on what WE know. Disappointment, frustration, or best of all, humor, results when requests are responded to based on what the other person knows.

As I've gone through life, and been disappointed by my own expectations and how I've perceived they should have been responded to, (apologies for the clunky syntax), I've also learned that expectations need to be moderated. Especially if you don't have too much control over how your requests or directions will be followed. Or, maybe more important, sometimes people just do things differently. It's not better, not worse, just different.

Really, what's the diff between half a mushroom and half a cup of them? In regards to meatloaf, that is.

The picture, and I hope I haven't repeated it, is of a tiny little courtyard fountain in Pittsburgh, between Boulevard of the Allies and First Avenue. There are Japanese maples and hostas and a few hanging baskets and contemporary wire benches. It is a narrow place, between a parking garage and an historic building. And nicely unexpected. I love walking through it on my summer fountain walks. It is cool, quiet and quite peaceful.

Right here in Downtown Pittsburgh.

Nanny States

I have been reading about the turmoil in Tehran and throughout Iran following the recent election in the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. I have also seen the video of the young woman shot by the paramilitaries in Tehran.

Tehran is supposed to be a beautiful city. And Iran, a complicated place in Asia. Muslim, but not Arab. I would love to visit someday.

I don't know anyone from Iran. In fact, I have no aquaintances whatsoever in Iran, Iraq and/or all points in that direction.

I admire the idea behind the protests. What is the point of an election if the results are not fair, transparent and public? What is the point of an election with hanging chads?

Tough to be an American and criticize the results when our own recent history is not so stellar.

Yet

As one single American, I wish for a peaceful and just resolution to the turmoil in Iran.

Turning guns and batons on your own people is wrong, and, if you take it to its logical conclusion, quite stupid. That goes for North Korea, Zimbabwe, Myanmar and others.

Don't kill your citizens. Let them speak. If you cannot do that, your silence speaks volumes.

Pittsburgh and G-20

The Group of 20 will meet here in September. I guess the buzz-o-sphere has been all a-twitter about it. There were letters to the editor in the Post-Gazette shortly after the announcement from local readers complaining about the snickering in the Washington press corps after the announcement was made.

How boring.

When I first moved to Pittsburgh in the early 1980s, and then moved back in the mid 1980s, the city was exiting its first Renaissance. It was much more beautiful than it had been 20 years previously. The air was cleaner, new buildings had gone up (unfortunately at the expense of some beautiful old ones) the sports teams (except for the Penguins) were winning.

Cleveland, on the other hand, was just starting to see a boost in development in the Flats, but Downtown was dying. Higbees, Halles, May Co. were dying and/or about to disappear. The Browns and Indians were losers and played in drafty Municipal Stadium, which at least had the cachet of having been built as an Olympic venue, rather than an ugly cookie cutter multi-use stadium like Three Rivers here or Riverfront in Cincinnati.

Cleveland had the Rapid. Pittsburgh still had creaky trolleys. Cleveland had a dirty river, Pittsburgh had three of them.

For all the similarities, there was a lot of snide comparison in Pittsburgh about the Mistake on the Lake, and then, in the mid to late 80s, Pittsburgh was named one of America's most livable cities, which prompted tons of provincial crowing. Cleveland, feeling inferior, began a thankfully brief, and incredibly embarrassing PR campaign that had this slogan to offer:

"If New York's the Big Apple, Cleveland's a Plum."

Why? There was and is no basis for comparison. Why would you put yourself in that ridiculous position? Pittsburgh is the same, provincial and insecure and hence all the crowing, and indignation about being dissed, over G-20.

I like it here. I've lived in a lot of places and I think the near-Midwest, I guess you could call it, really has a lot going for it. Low cost of living, proximity to the East Coast. Good pro and college sports for the most part. Museums, bike trails, lots of great state and local parks. Nice, if underused, airports. If we had good inter-city train service, we'd be set. And Pittsburgh really needs light rail transit from the airport to downtown and from Downtown to the university center in Oakland. That's been talked about for at least as long as I've lived here, if not longer.

Still though, pretty here and pretty in Cleveland. We should support each other, not snicker. We both have a lot of great amenities and truthfully, it's a lot nicer living in a smaller city than a larger one. People are friendly and mostly more laid back than those who live amid the crowds of New York, Washington and Boston. Mostly.

I think the world and the Washington press corps will be impressed with Pittsburgh. If we did have a light rail from the airport to Downtown, the Romare Bearden mural at the top of this post is the first thing they would see once they got off the train Downtown.

I never fail to be absorbed by how it shows history, the passage of time and beautifully uses the repetition of shapes and patterns to make its point.

This station will be closed soon for two years as construction continues on a light-rail spur to the North Side and the mural will be taken down for repairs. I'll be looking forward to seeing it again in its old spot. And hoping that new eyes will see it, too.

Memorial Day 2009

Two things related to remembering.

Carl and I drove to Elyria this weekend to visit Mom and Mary. Arrived late afternoon on Friday and got up early Saturday morning to go to the West Side Market in Cleveland. What a place! So old world.

The main market building, with beautiful convex tiled ceilings, a minaret type post at one corner and crowds bustling about, is an adventure in crowds, sights and smells. Meat vendors sell sausage, pigs feet, apple cured bacon, seafood, pasties and sandwiches. Each shop inside is marked by a glazed terra cotta marker. G12, H6.

We all split up, C and I right off stopped for a brat with sauerkraut after strolling through the produce market. It was all too tempting. Bought too much and so overstuffed the car on the way home today. Berries, melon, pineapple, chiles rellenos, fried rice. Dangerous, dangerous! We also bought fixings for a delicious dinner last night. Fresh pasta, sauce and sausage. Edye came over and we had a lovely meal.

On the way out of the market, I noticed a small group of demonstrators, standing vigil against the wars -- if that's what you can call them -- in Iraq and Afghanistan. One was a Vietnam vet. I took some video but what I emailed from my cell phone  is about two seconds long. Basically, they are there every day, to remind people of the sacrifices and cost of our efforts in those places.

Second thing. Listening to the radio on the way home, in range of Pittsburgh's WDVE FM station, the DJ played a request for Richie Havens' "Handsome Johnny," anthem to young soldiers who go to fight old mens' wars. I had never heard it before.

A third thing. I remember my Dad and my brother, Chris. Dad was gone just before Memorial Day in 1995 and Chris not too long after in 2005.

 Your loss always makes me melancholy this time of year. We had a wonderful dinner out with Dad at Jim's before he died and a great Memorial Day party with Chris and Edye six weeks before Chris, too was gone. I miss both of you more than I can say.

And to all others: Thank you. And I wish you all were home and had never been away.

Pix and places

India photo first: I have so many, I'm just going to keep inserting them. This is me with Kim's friend Deepa Shah, during our outing to the fascinating Chandni Chowk bazaar in Delhi. I have my Flip camera, the better to film Kim, who was in the rickshaw behind us. Deepa was a great guide! She negotiated the rickshaw fares, took us in to the Sikh temple and found a hole in the wall snack shop for us to grab a delicious bite in. As we ate, I asked her for the name of the place. She looked around, shrugged and said (with a laugh) "I don't know, but it's in all the guidebooks." All I can say is, as you enter Chandni Chowk from the Red Fort, it's not too far in, and on your left. Good luck!

Onward

I work with creative people and we like to share links to cool sites. Most, if not all, are design oriented and I hope to become more adept at finding well written and edited sites. Here is a compilation of design, writing and quirkiness (in no particular order, except the first one, Mysterion, which I just came across today, is most definitely quirky).  Maggie Taylor is awesome! And the Ron Morgan site is truly elegant.

Mysterion

Maggie Taylor

Sappi

Ron Morgan 

And here are two Amy sites: Fabric artist Amy Butler and photographer Amy Parrish. AB is in Granville, Ohio (beautiful home of Denison University) and AP is not too far away, about 30? miles to the west in Columbus, (home of my alma mater, The Ohio State University). 

Amy Butler

Amy Parrish

Finally, this is the What is Blik site, where you can buy neat, fun, elegant, playful and cheesy decals for the walls in your home. Cheaper than painting! And, speaking as someone whose dining room has been a mess for months because I've taken on a painting project that I only get back too  intermittently: FASTER!

On the bus

By way of prelude, I am trying to start every morning with a deep, centering breath – not when I wake up, because that's usually "Oh crap, I slept past the alarm" – but when the girls and I finally get out into the park for our morning walk. This time of year, the centering breath is easy because all is fresh and green and birds are singing and the park is, but for the bird song, quiet. So we walk and I listen and breathe and try to prepare myself for the day. Do your best. Be kind and patient. Listen and be thoughtful. And try to keep that cranky, critical, judgmental person that I live with on the sidelines.

It's a good exercise. It doesn't always work fully, but it does have the effect of making me a mindful person for the day. I'm learning to shake off crankiness (mostly, some crankiness is good, and after all part of who I am!) and remember that when irritation creeps in that's a good signal to stop and think.

So, why the prelude?

Took the bus to work today; it leaves the bottom of Mayfair at about 7:50 and gets Downtown 30 minutes later. Plenty of time to ready the paper, watch people or drowse. Usually I start reading the Wall Street Journal but if I haven't had enough sleep, I put my head against the window.

Today I had good coffee and despite sleeping late, wasn't sleepy. I sat in the back of the bus, higher up than the front seats, and watched the traffic inch alongside us on Banksville Road. I saw these drivers (A lot of them in Honda Civics):

One woman steering with her knees and filing her nails.

One man in a crisp white shirt and tan khakis and tie talking on a cellphone.

One man in blue scrubs going over a stapled report.

One woman driving and holding a Starbucks cup talking to her passenger, also holding a Starbucks cup.

One woman eating Yoplait yogurt.

One woman with a cell phone in her lap.

Another man in scrubs, just driving.

All I could see was from shoulders to laps to knees.

So, what I'm getting back to is, my first immediate reaction is: "Why is no one paying attention? Why so many cars with only one person in them? Why aren't you people on the bus (where passengers also are variously occupied, but at least the driver isn't)?

Then, well, it's none of my business. I wish it weren't so, but, not my call.

Is that wimpy? Pragmatic?

Perhaps the better question is why is there  not a better public transportation system in the United States. And what, besides using the one I have, can I do about it.

How's that for 180 degrees from start to finish? 

A last word, I hope to have a new camera soon. This blog seems so incomplete without photographs. There are some especially beautiful flowers, leaves and fungus in the park. Not to mention two beautiful greyhounds.