April Showers

April has fangs. The month, not a person. When I consider the fourth month of our calendar year, pastel colors, fragile blossoms and fragrant raindrops spring to mind. And kittens. Kittens with razor sharp teeth and knife-like claws that slash and bite. The fantasy of April is much kinder than the reality. 

First of all, the weather is completely unpredictable, mood swinging from twinges of sun to petulant clouds to downright nasty skin-soaking rain and revengeful hail. Apparently I am not alone in my suspicions of April, as T.S. Eliot once wrote, "April is the cruellest month." And my hunch unfortunately was correct, April statistics reveal it is also the month with the highest suicide rate.

So far, April has been an over-the-top month for many people we know, fraught with health issues, heart break, and unfortunately, anniversaries of suicide. I'm not intending to be dark or morbid, in fact, quite the opposite. When all is swirling and overwhelming, it's important to remember to breathe.

And while remembering to breathe, I was inspired to make this over-the-top necklace. Like I've said before, my philosophy about emotions is to decorate them with food and art. I've done the art part, now it's time for dinner.   

  

Viva Mexico - La Comida!

It happens before every trip. At least one person will express fear and trepidation about ever going to a foreign country without speaking the language. I guess I’m lucky, because I went on my first overseas trip to Japan as a teenager and had not one word of Nihongo under my belt.

But no worries I soon discovered, people who must traverse the language barrier often have more meaningful conversations than those who share their mother tongue. Why? Because we have to listen, try harder and incorporate body language, hand signals, humor, smiles and graciousness.

Everywhere we’ve ever gone, we travel as guests. We understand that it is a privilege to enter someone else’s country and do our best to quickly learn the phrases of politeness, such as Bonjour Madame before ever asking a question, or Buenos Dias, Senor before launching into any attempts at conversation.

We have discovered that with even the slightest attempt at speaking their language, most people are patient with us and are more than willing to interact. In other words, it has not been necessary to be fluent in order to travel agreeably.

And, with many phrases being used situationally, it is easy to pick up the necessary meanings or gist right away. For instance, La Comida. I’m not sure if it means the food, the lunch, the supper, or the meal, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with edibles.

And this is what today’s entry is about, one of my favorite subjects, food! I love to eat as you can see by this truth telling photograph, and while that large glass looks like it be filled with a margarita, that, my friend, contained the most delicious fresh squeezed grapefruit juice.

Groom and I think we are fairly adventurous eaters, but haven’t worked up the nerve or the appetite to try say, roadkill or anything with brains, intestines and the like. We try not to eat at chain restaurants, instead preferring to discover out of the way restaurants and immersing ourselves into the local cuisine.

We have a pretty good knack for finding great places to eat and this trip was no exception. The only thing I have to complain about is that we could not find anything spicy. Groom and I love to eat food that is muy picante and caliente. My effort at saying very spicy and hot. En fuego. On fire.

But as for having eggs and refried beans for breakfast, that was not unusual. We often have beans for breakfast including today. Oh, we’ve been known to eat spicy quesadillas for the first meal of the day at home or roasted jalapeños so we had no fear of either the food or the water. We mostly sipped the bottled stuff, but drank tap water from our room sink that had a “filter.” No problema.

We love our coffee and the stronger the better. We giggled at having found some “Legal” coffee and wondered what the illegal stuff might taste like?

These are just a few of the pictures we took of food. Don’t be surprised, later on down el camino, the road, if you don’t find some more mouth watering images posted here.

Via Con Dios!

Transition Into Light

While “transition into light” may sound a little deathly, it’s actually rebirthlier. Last Wednesday, on 09-09-09, we had to drive 9 hours through the high desert (our gas bill was $28.28). To save time, or so we mistakenly thought, we decided to post a visual blog instead (more photos, less talk).

To our surprise, the response was highly enthusiastic and in fact, we were encouraged to shift from Frida’s perspective to that of His and Hers. In a flash, the idea for “The Language of Light” was born.

What is photography but a reflection of light? In fact, photo is Greek for light, and quite literally, photography means “light writing.” Aaaah, writing in light, I love it!

Sometimes the most obvious is the last thing to be noticed.

Groom and I have been taking photographs for years, it’s just something we love to do. Yet it took several somebodies to point it out and it finally dawned on us, that perhaps doing what we love is the direction we should go.

You are witness to our new path.

Here are a few pictures from our week in Spud City, otherwise known to most of you as Boise, Idaho. We have been going there for the last 15 years to sell our jewelry at Art in the Park. As we’ve become quite fond of “The City of Trees,” there are several places we love visiting year after year.

On this expedition, we literally followed light and encountered some magic. We pulled over for an interesting looking Thrift Shop, connected to St. Michael’s Cathedral. The gothic bells were chiming and the two people we met, Mel and Yvette, were charming.

They heartily welcomed us and we were honored by a private tour of the Cathedral and sighed over an original Tiffany stained glass window (which we respected their request not to photograph) and Yvette humored me while I took a picture of her gorgeous tattooed arms in the columbarium. Mel made a special trip to the art show on Sunday to visit us.

After the Cathedral, we ate our annual lunch at Jim’s diner (chicken on the roof), wandered around downtown, visited Dragonfly and Eyes of the World.

We ate dinner at Barbacoa and had this lovely view from our deck-top table. I must apologize now to the vegans, for we participated in what the popular T-shirt laments… “Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder.”

When our entrée was served, I had a negative, visceral reaction. It looked like a death scene, the fig jam looking to me like the entrails of the poor little quail. I told Groom that the chef must have a wicked sense of humor.

The next evening, we channel surfed - a luxury - for we do not have cable at home. We stopped on the Food Network and to our horror, we were shown a restaurant where the chef was pleased with himself for creating an edible death scene. Perhaps our chef from the night before had already watched it. Whatever the case, I surprised myself for “reading” the plate before hearing about such a culinary endeavor.

The last four pictures were taken in Julia Davis Park, host to the art show. He in the sculpture garden; She in the rose garden.

While I’m not committing Frida to retirement, we are transitioning into The Language of Light.

Soaking it in

Ahhhh...Back in Japan. It is starting to feel like I am really here, and yet as much as is familiar is sooo different. Who would have thought that everybody would have aged while I stayed just the same? Well, maybe not just the same -- I keep hearing how thin I am. That would be a great compliment were it not for the fact that they follow up with, "You were so fat back then!"

In my head in know that it is true -- I gained 40lbs in the four months I was here the first time -- but, I so quickly returned to my more natural weight when I returned to the States I never really thought of myself as "so fat." It is a bit shocking to hear that they have held that particular picture of me in their heads for all these years!

It seems that the local economy has also thinned over the years, and I am amazed at the lack of hustle and bustle on once busy streets in this area. Even in the larger city of Tsuyama the shopping center was like a ghost town. Even more distressing, I had my first cup of bad coffee in Japan there. I have been raving about the fact that they served the best coffee in the world for the last 26 years, so that cup nearly brought me to tears.

In their possible defense, they did not speak English and my Japanese is not what it was, so they may have thought they were doing us a favor by making us "American" coffee -- meaning very weak.

This is a land of juxtapositions, though, so my delight has far outweighed any disappointments. The people are still kind and helpful, there is beauty around every corner, and the food is so good that if I were to be here any longer than two weeks I would soon quit hearing how thin I am.

I can see that being here is a great reminder about being in the Now. The tea ceremony is about being at the tea ceremony. Every detail is to be noticed and appreciated. There is no room for who said what yesterday or where am I supposed to be tomorrow -- you must be present.

The same is true for soaking in the Onsen. It is about being in the water. The heat purifies all of the nonsense out of your head, and you scrub the day off of your body before you enter the pools. Worry can't coexist with that level of relaxation.

And Now, it is time to go have some more adventures!

Frida’s Favorite F-words

Bonjour! As 2008 fades into the annals of history and 2009 is ushered in with colorful confetti, hiccup-inducing bubbly, midnight kisses and the famous ball dropping in Times Square, it’s easy to feel like little pieces of the sky are falling with it.

Since it’s New Year’s Eve, we could prattle on about resolutions, no-interest payments until 2010, or the Inauguration, but I think those angles will get coverage-exhausticus.

Let’s talk about something new and fresh, such as politely reminding all you holiday decorators out there to please throw away your Halloween pumpkins, for crying out loud! Moldy jack o’lanterns and December wreaths don’t go together. FYI: rotting orange and mildew drab are not the new red and green. And while we’re on the subject of things past their expiration dates, the election is over people, so you can remove those decomposing campaign signs. Sheesh.

What else to discuss - weight loss, the economic forecast, global cooling? Nah, too bloody depressing. Oh, I know, how about satan? I saw a man at the Holiday Market in a T-shirt bearing the message, “Everybody is satan to someone.”

Thank goodness I was wearing my John Fluevog boots, made for stomping out evil (yes, they are actually “satan resistant”), because Boogie monsters from my past momentarily loomed large as I nodded in agreement with the cotton billboard’s sentiment and gave a sinister snortle. “Sure are,” I mumbled to myself, quickly running through my highly prized list of grievances.

Even though I wake up at the crack of Don every morning (private joke unless you worked it out that I have a bird’s eye view of a human thusly named), this one dawned slowly over Frida County. Who did his T-shirt say satan was again? Everybody to somebody? What in the blazes does that mean?

If by “everybody,” that includes moi, I think the T-shirt is sadly mistaken. I could not possibly be a satan or even one of his little elves to anyone. Well, there was that one time. Crikey, I just thought of something else. Ooh, and that was naughty, too.

As I began to think of the few unkindish words I’ve softly uttered, the discernment I’ve exercised, grudges I’ve gently nurtured, it occurred to me that the casually worn slogan might be a fair assessment after all. It’s easy to recall the injustices done to us, but it takes a bit more effort to acknowledge the ways in which we’ve played the Villain in other people’s dramas.

So with the New Year in the forefront of our minds, let’s make a group resolution that we blah de blah flowery rainbows fairies and Kumbaya. Ha, you thought I was going to get all sentimental, maudlin and preachy, didn’t you?

Pssst, when it comes to our mistakes, may I suggest allowing bygones be bygones? What say we let ourselves off the hook? Let’s put all unpleasant emotional sensations behind us, let it go, man, no need to hold on, history is history, what’s done is finished, am I right?

In the spirit of forgetting the past and moving forward, let’s frolic through a few of Frida’s favorite F-words. Fluevogs? Absolutely. I’m a proud wearer. Forgiveness? Yep, we can check that off our list. How about all things frenchy, food and fashion? Oui, fa and la.

Now that my appetite is whetted and I’m in a très good mood, I must wax poetic about friendship. Years ago, when I met my bon ami, Christine La Bean for the first time, she introduced herself as being “emotionally French.” She described liberating her mother’s shower cap, placing it on her head at a jaunty angle and pretending she was wearing a beret in her make-believe Paris.

Christine La Bean never made it to Paris before she died. Drats. There are many of us out there missing loved ones, or frustrated at times by the ones still around. Too bad there’s not a celestial swap meet we could go to once a year, say on New Year’s Eve, where we could make a deal on our satans in exchange for the angels who have already passed. “I’ll trade you two sotted uncles for one slightly used Grandma.” Oh, don't act so shocked, you know what I'm talking about. Wait a minute, what if somebody invites us to the swap meet?!

One final F-note before Auld Lang Syne: Food. Props to Fleur De Lis, a Patisserie & Café in Cottage Grove, Oregon for their Quiche Lorraine, Fraisier (strawberry pastry) and Mexican mocha (mai, bien sur) and beautiful mural of Notre Dame. On this magical day, while stuffing our faces, it was easy to imagine sitting at an outdoor café and staring at the Seine. Planting a seed in the ethers of visualization.

To feed and water this seedling, Chakra Mom (a former French teacher and foodie tour group leader to Provence), cooked us Poulet en croute and Bûche de Nöel. Merci beaucoup.

Even so, Chicken Little, whether wearing polished horns, a rusty halo, or a plastic shower cap beret, Bonne Annee!