Interviewing Josh

I was feeling a little somber. What better way to feel cheer than to interview your partner, getting into his thoughts when he otherwise is slightly inaccessible with an opposing schedule? The interview questions I copied from a blog online quite awhile ago. Me and my poor organizational tendencies lost the site address. Can I be sued for such slander? Well, here goes:



What inspires you?
Art & artists, mountains, the desert, the dalai lama, the love and support of my wife (ahhh...)

Happiness is....
Peace, close family, feeling productive in mind and body

Browsing often...
Tools and equipment

Wishing for...
Stability, the right studio, future commissions, not to mention an air compressor, slip roller, V bandsaw, portable wire feeder, and a trailer.

Listening to...
A lot of NPR

Escaping with...
Sarah on a spiritually good day, alcohol on a bad!

Morning....
discipline, habit, ritual, coffee, going out for or Sarah's breakfasts.

Noon...
Bustin' it out... working

Night...
Computer browsing, a little beer, nighttime reading.

What are you looking forward to?
Finishing this project and the gallery show with it.



The future is...
Hope and anxiety, freedom and a trap, a plan and the ephemeral unexpected, what I want to be, risks to find joy, family, art, exploration, food, community, metal and clay, earth and wind, and maybe horses. Definitely breakfast.

The past is...
every demon and every joy. Who I am, who we are, a collection of phenomonological experience that makes present consciousness. This is Josh's study for the gallery show coming through.

Today...

I want to return to here:



Here, I can think and not feel watched. Here, all I know from the world is what I've learned before, and what I learn in the present exists only because of that present I'm experiencing.

I'm so tired. The New York Times slideshows today included Tuberculosis hospitals in South Africa, and Tibetan riots being beat out by Nepali police. On the radio is Senator Chuck Hagel from Nebraska speaking on political strategies and Iraqi policies. My brain is so sad, my body so obliterated by journalistic bombs. My trust has been confiscated by the government.



There has to be some form of outcry. And I suppose this is it, my outcry for the 4,000 dead, the five years at war. I wait for the time when I do more, whatever that is, whatever it is that is not just me trying to be obscure and cling to my daily rituals. Because right now I am paralyzed by these real life moments, realizations that there is so much more to do than stay safely in my cove.

Turmeric: Spice of My Week

So this week I'm in love with turmeric. It gives conglomerations of food glorious color, it's full of flavors and nutrients, and it is so reminiscent of the smells and tastes of India. Turmeric is in the ginger family, and similar to its relation, it also is a rhizome.

Turmeric has many ayurvedic (medicinal Indian practice) purposes. Included in these are uses that include its antiseptic and antibacterial properties.

I have it in a handy and easy to reach glass vessel, throwing it in as the flexible and friendly bitter little spice that it is. This morning we engaged in leftover chimichurri sauce and turmeric eggs. It makes eggs just that much more sunny in the morning. And all of us here that live in Michigan know how welcome anything is that is reminiscent of sunniness. Come, spring equinox, come!

Even more interesting, what is your favorite spice right now? Do you have the pleasure of having one? If not, please, by all means borrow mine. And then look up Bong Mom's Cookbook to learn more!

Josh is having a Birthday Week

Josh turns 29 this week, so this means it is celebrate josh week- at least in my world. It's a busy month for him. He's in the midst of curating the upcoming show at Gallery Project in Ann Arbor, planning the exhibition and creating the two pieces he will contribute. But he came home a little early last night to humor my week of celebration and partake in a thursday night birthday dinner. The dinner consisted of Seared Ribeye with Chimichurri Sauce that I found on a great food blog, and extremely scrumptious and rich scalloped potatoes. Our theme was parsley, one of those obscure flavors Josh isn't terribly fond of, and porterhouse steaks cut thicker than my forearm. The parsley flavor was surprisingly a hit, savory and blended with multiple spices and extra raw garlic. Sometimes foods that are less appealing just need a bit of a makeover (like brussels sprouts, right dad?). To drink we had Red Snapper and a Cotes du Rhone wine. Delic.








And we split this chocolate guiness cupcake from Cake Nouveau for dessert.



A couple of months ago I met a photographer by the name of Marco Mancinelli at the Ann Arbor artist's market. I bought this print yesterday from him for Josh's birthday. Mother Teresa represents selflessness and real life to me. I love her starkness. The garb at her feet is what the nuns in Calcutta wore when Josh and I volunteered at Mother Teresa's. Good memories and inspiration for life are enraptured in this photo.

Sticky Buns

We woke to a snowy and cold morning, grayness making its way through the blinds, so I took action for our growling bellies and decided to make sticky buns. 31 hours later, we had sticky buns. Perhaps this will teach me to read ahead in cook books before I start such lofty, hunger driven adventures? Probably not, but in the meantime we can continue to highly anticipate our baked goods that actually take time to rise... multiple times.

These were mysterious and then delicious, rich and buttery and perfect for the following day which was similar in atmosphere and chill. The layer of stickiness forms to your buttered pan, the rolls cook on top of this pecan and sugar medley, and when turned over after being cooked you have the bun and the stickiness adhered into one scrumptious comfort food. This can now go down in the records as one of my first attempts baking bread. Who knew that sticky buns would be in the bread category for novices? Well, I suppose the The Joy of Cooking knew. And I could have too, if I had read ahead.

Thrift Finds

I've started collecting clothes from my friends and co-workers with the hope of selling them at a consignment store for profit, and then donating the money I receive back to non-profit. When I was dropping some clothes off last week (wearing a nice new sweater I circumvented from the pile) I came across these two beautiful kitchen pieces, a kettle and a cast iron pot perfect for scalloped potatoes. We made the potatoes the other night, scooping from its yellow depths, feeling as though we were partaking in something very special indeed- something to partake in on holidays in our forever. And the corning wear kettle is the size of three cups of chai, creamy milk from Calder Dairy, heated directly on the stove with this honey you see in the picture, produced by the hardworking bees of Petoskey, Michigan. Seeing this kettle on our stove always makes me want to call my mom. When I was growing up she was constantly reaching for her corning wear pots and pans. Not bad finds, I say. Something used made new to me! They make me oh-so happy.

Poignant People

Sometimes people drift into your life, and then they are there awhile before you realize the tides changed when they arrived. One such person sent me a note this weekend that made my spirit waver. He has seen me struggle both at work and with my health, and it meant a lot that he noticed and cared enough to say anything. And he made me think...


Within me is the worry that people born of my make and model are destined for torture. I’ve been deliberating specifically today on whether there is a life I can choose to lead that will bring me to a path of peace, not sickness and utter overwhelming life adherence to a burning notion of safety. Is it possible to choose a dedication that both sustains and inspires me? That alone should be the ultimate goal of humanity, but we tend to allow the forceful systems of society to assault us in an opposing trajectory.

I decided this week to surrender to this breeze that swept by. I heard slight sounds of encouragement speaking, softly parading ideas of simplicity and solitude. In an honest and earnest moment I realized that I haven’t truly been alone in what feels like years. And now that I see this, I have the chance to grasp the best of two worlds I have known; the world of withdrawn dissolution, spiritual, lonely, yet productive, and the world of quiet companionship, full of acceptance, dedication and sacrifice.

There are lives out there that are honorable influences for us all. And while there is no perfect answer to the meaning of being alive, felicity is a human quality that is not only achievable, but also natural. So by stripping away skin that is not natural, the complexion of the spirit cleanly and smoothly reveals itself.

When life, death, and regret face you with its unreadable glassy eyes, thoughts begin to resemble understanding in a truer sense. Material things, false words, crazy fallacies begin to lose their grasp. I remember facing death 6 years ago, my hunger and realization of the world around me became only a charade and hallucination. People, words, advertisements, money danced around me and I was the ghost lingering in the center, staring at Josh cemented to a hospital bed. When I thought he was going to die, time itself began to move in slow motion. Nothing more mattered that whole year, not angry kids I worked with, not awkward wedding plans, not the size of my jeans or condition of my car. When you see life at its most vulnerable, you yourself have the opportunity to become vulnerable and reflective.

There are no enemies to be had, only enemies to be made. I know I can hold no one but myself accountable for my feelings or the sick setting my surroundings can become. Because change should be for the good, it shouldn’t be feared. I don’t dismay that my body won’t sustain, but I do grudge the passing of time. So this should be an inspiration to live moments for moments, to hold ourselves accountable for these moments, and to hope our moments seep into the spatial quality of our world. Our light then can diffuse through our cracks, not be sucked from our cavities.

Awareness is a gift. Now we just need the gift of a trampoline to bounce us when we jump, shooting us wherever it is we will land.

Our Recent New York, New York Journey

This beautiful face you may not recognize is that of our friend Michelle that joined us in the travels. She was about to partake in her first genuine skateboard display shop/sushi bar sake bomb.

South Indian Dinner

Sunday we spent some time with some friends of ours that are originally from southern India. We introduced ourselves five years ago when we recognized their accents as being from that region. When we met it didn't seem like our trip to India had been that distant, but now time has definitely lapsed.

It's been 8 years since Josh and I first started getting to know each other. I can imagine where we were eight years ago today, the beginning of February. It was just starting to get really warm in India, we were probably on the train to Maduraii by after spending a month in Nagercoil, preparing for classes in Indian Geography, Religion, and History. Evenings were spent on rooftops drinking King Fisher beer, listening to our (tape!) walkmans, writing emails to family that rarely made it past Indian electrical glitches, and eating homemade curries, briyanis, and dosas.

Anytime we spend with our Michigan Indian friends we are transported to the days of sweat on our brows, cameras by our sides, thoughts racing through our heads about global issues. It's good to remember days that were so molding to who we are now and to the relationship that we have.

Here are photos of our friends and the day we spent- them trying to teach us about cooking, and an afternoon with bloated rice bellies, watching Bollywood films and nodding off to the smell of tea and curry.

Pain to Peace

Let's just be honest here. I'm a slightly prideful person. But I have a feeling that everyone, in some way, has a bit too much pride for healthy existence. My husband and I seem to have a clear channel of communication even when our single selfish selves get the best of us. We come around, apologize, remember the days before we were married that we swore fighting could never happen between us. And I certainly don't have a lot of pride with my appearance anymore. The staff at work laughed at me on Friday because of my attire. I had to explain that the shiny black button up shirt was from a friend of my sister's five years ago, the pants were from my housemates sister, the tshirt was from a festival Josh and I went to, and the boots are a hiking staple bought back in 1998. But when it comes to putting my stress on other people by asking for help, it stresses me out even more.

The past six months have been really tough in that this healthy 28 year old has had to eliminate exercise beyond walking and deal with feeling shabby about 70% of my days. I've had the flu and a case of mono that just went on and on and on. I'm not sure if it was brought on by the late nights, getting home between 3-5am, or the gray, cold Michigan days, or the stress of lifestyle changes. But 70% of the past six months has been spent full of exhaustion, disbelief, and cold and flu symptoms. So this weekend, when I started to get a cold, I decided to amp up my vitamins, oregano, kumbucha, and sleep. Because I was so congested I boiled some water on the stove, threw a towel over my head, and stuck my head in the cavity made by towel and pot. I was really enjoying my own personal steam bath until I dropped my towel in the water and then decided to drop the towel directly on my leg. As a result I've burned myself. To what degree, I have no idea. I should just call my childhood best friend's husband who is a surgeon, but no, here's the pride I was talking about earlier. This morning, 15 hours after the episode, I walk around in circles in the kitchen, I call my father who is a family minister, my sister who is a veterinarian (and does know some things), my husband who is an artist, but I don't just dial Joseph the surgeon's number. But really, he's not my personal surgeon. It's not like he doesn't work 60 hours a week as it is.

So I'll call him. I promise. It's just rough when you feel like you don't have much to offer in return, like, "Hey! joseph! Give us a call if you ever have any questions about Robert Smithson or Richard Serra! Or if I can help you understand the difference between ales and lagers. We're your experts!" I suppose it feels like I'm asking Joseph to be responsible for the fact that we don't have health insurance. And that's not fair. But they always tell me to call, never worry, it's always fine. I should believe them. And I should move on to one more thought, the title to this post.

I finished another book by Paulo Coelho, the author of the Alchemist. This book that I read comments on pain and how if you avoid the pain, and if you don't allow yourself to live that pain through until the pain can no longer be felt, until you've risen about that pain, you can't have the value of peace that comes through the pain. These past months, as I've labored on in less then perfect health, there have been thoughts, processes that I've worked through, that I wouldn't have had time for if it wasn't for the pain. I have a long way to go, but I realize that I've been given the gift of a different perspective because of all this irritating sick time. I didn't succumb to hours spent in a gym or running (knowing that my body could handle the muscle recovery), and I didn't spend hours busying myself with tasks that swaddle themselves in lies about needing to get done. I simply stayed quiet and still and read many books in the time that I couldn't be rushing. And so while I hate that my immune system is weaker than any other 28 year old I know in my functioning society, and I hate the fact that I somehow pored boiling water on my knee, I can move past that. I can simply hate the fact that I don't have health insurance, yet embrace the fact that life has surrounded me with knowledgeable and loving people who as much as I hesitate asking for help, are always willing.

And I love the fact that when I feel most rushed and as though the world will cave in if I don't finish all those tasks on my list, but then am pounded to my bed by the weight of sickness or burns, peace kind of sidesteps in. And I think I'm just going to let it. And call my personal surgeon.