Millie Bea

Hard to say goodbye to PDX, but seeing my beautiful niece Millie Bea softened the blow. Any time she is concentrating hard on something, that adorable tongue of hers is out. It's pretty much the cutest thing ever.

Movin' On

It was really hard to say goodbye to Portland. Or rather, it was hard to say goodbye to Summer Camp. I had gotten so comfortable there on my sister's front porch, basking in the serenity of solitude, the sounds and smells of summer, the rhythm of life without deadlines (except for one or two I totally missed in my what-day-is-it? mode).

It wasn't like I was totally idle -- like some Victorian lady of leisure napping on the sofa. I was always active, thinking or doing or creating or learning something. In fact, in some ways I was more productive than I am at home. Funny how that works, huh?

By the time Heather arrived for my last few days there, I was ready for companionship and loved our conversations and outings. But after she left, I could have easily returned to my porch perch for another week or two of designing and writing all by my self.

I was actually a little bit relieved to feel this way. Sometimes, in my normal life, I fear I am too dependent on the company of friends. I wonder if I'm capable of happiness completely on my own. So there was a little bit of pride and pleasure in discovering that yes, I am okay all by myself.

That said, my time alone also proved another thing: I love my friends. Adore them, really. I missed all of my Detroit people an awful lot. (Thanks for the nice long-distance phone chats!)

So packing was bittersweet. And if I wasn't rushing (as I always am) to clean up and catch my plane, my departure might have hit me harder.

But now I am onto Summer Camp Part II: The Homeland. Some QT with family before returning to Michigan. (A nice segue back to reality, too.)

As my plane lifted off the runway, I scribbled in my notebook:

Farewell clean, chill air
Green everywhere
"The City That Works"
You worked for me.
You're not my home
(But that was the point)
Camp is a luxury
(Don't think I don't know that).
But everything I learned
Every meal I burned
I will carry it all home...

Parks > Parking

Peninsula Park in NE Portland, just a short walk from my sister's home. Gorgeous rose gardens, beautiful fountains, great public playground and pool. As Heather & I were here basking in the sun on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I was hoping Detroit had figured out a way to preserve the Parks & Recreation budget. City parks are so important. Do I even have to explain why? (Nah, probably not.)

Mississippi Avenue

Mississippi Avenue in NE Portland. Indie shops, coffeehouses, food carts, live street music. Cafe tables in front of every restaurant. Bicycles and bike racks everywhere. Hand-painted sidewalk signs. Falafel for five bucks. Nothin' too fancy. Okay, maybe a couple places. But all in all, it has that small-town-meets-big-city feel I love.

Orzo

Impromptu dinner: Salmon, spinach, red onions & orzo. So simple, so good.

Water & Wine

On Friday, Heather & I headed west to the coast so I could dip my toe in the icy cold Pacific. The 90-mile drive from Portland to Cannon Beach is one of my favorites -- just leaving "Bridgetown" is pretty spectacular, cruising over the Willamette River with the city below and mountains beyond. Then, once you're out, there's virtually no icky suburban sprawl -- just miles and miles of natural beauty. (Thank you, Urban Growth Boundary.)  

First stop: Lunch at Bill's Tavern & Brewhouse in Cannon Beach. Shrimp Sandwich for me, Ahi Tuna Salad for H. (Oh, and my delish sandwich came with cheddar from Tillamook, just down the road.) Bill's was cute, and Cannon Beach is super cute. Reminds me of New England, with all that seaside wood cladding I love:

H & I enjoyed a nice long walk on the beach. The clouds parted, the sun smiled, and the breeze was divine. Kites + sand castles + fond memories of family vacations past = happy, happy.

 

 

After ice cream cones & a stroll through town, we pointed the car towards Willamette Valley wine country. When I was here two years ago with Heather & our wine lover friend Liz, we did a proper tasting tour -- Argyle, The Four Graces, Domaine Serene, Scott Paul & more. This time, we arrived after most tasting rooms had closed, but enjoyed a lovely rose at The Horseradish bar in downtown Carlton, and then a sunset dinner (and more wine, of course) under an umbrella on the veranda of Cana's Feast Winery:

Dinner was superb, the dessert especially divine. But really what I loved most was watching the sun set slowly over the rolling hills of the vineyard estate. 

(Note to self: Own a vineyard someday. Or better yet, persuade a friend.)

Camp Population Doubles

Summer Camp PDX is super excited to welcome our esteemed guest camper, the lovely Ms. Heather Franzese, who flew up from San Francisco for the long weekend. 

Unfortunately H's check-in time was a little later than scheduled. Her airport driver (who shall remain nameless) was cruisin' along and rockin' out to Jay-Z, when all of the sudden she spotted the most breathtaking view of Mount Hood and totally sped past the exit.

Thank God for those "Welcome to Washington" signs. You know, crossing state lines is usually a good clue that you've gone too far. Also, they really shouldn't put airports in such beautiful locations. Just sayin'.

Besides that minor delay, H's visit started as all good reunions should: with a marathon catch-up conversation over two bottles of Chardonnay from the local Argyle Winery. Ms. Franzese recently launched the Fair Trade Apparel program for Transfair USA (huzzah, you can now buy fair trade clothing!), so she had lots of interesting stories about her factory visits and negotiations around the globe.

Lights out at 2:30 AM -- not bad for two old ladies. Next stop: Pacific Ocean...

Salmon & Sweet Potatoes

Salmon, sweet potatoes, spinach & shallots. (All foods that begin with an "s" apparently.) Super yum.

Buying Olympia

"Bicycle Mini-Wallet" by Fluffy Co.

Have always loved Buy Olympia. Now there are lots of online art and design cooperatives, but these guys were a little bit ahead of the curve. When I opened Bureau, Olympia artist Stella Marrs was on my must-have list, and we've been selling her witty political postcards ever since. (I love them so much, I've even begged her to make posters. "Coming!" she says.)

Anyway, the last time I visited Portland, the good people of Buy Olympia (Washington, that is) had just opened their first gallery and retail shop, Land, on Mississippi Avenue. (For Detroiters: it's kinda like City Bird with handmade goods by regional designers.) I returned this time to see how they're doing ("Great!" they said) and pick-up a few fun little things:

"Automotive Legacy" Notepad by The Sherwood Press

"Son, it will fall to you to see that every last one of these is destroyed." 

"Hope" Greeting Card by Sarah McCarry for Stumptown Printers

"We are a people tending toward democracy at the level of hope." -Muriel Rukeyser

"Open Mouth" Postcard by Stella Marrs

"The job of a good citizen is to keep her mouth open."

Scallop & Spinach Salad

Okay, this was so delicious I have to record the recipe so I'll remember to make it again. It calls for large sea scallops, but mine were more petite.

Scallop and Spinach Salad with Bacon Vinaigrette

Serves 4

6 slices bacon, chopped

1/2 medium red onion, sliced thin

1 teaspoon sugar

1/4 cup cider vinegar

2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard

1 1/2 pounds of large sea scallops

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 package baby spinach

salt & pepper

1. Cook bacon in large skillet over medium heat until crisp. Remove bacon and pour off all but 1/4 cup bacon fat from skillet. Add onion and sugar to skillet and cook until softened, about 3 minutes. Add vinegar and mustard, scraping up any browned bits. Transfer dressing to large bowl; cover to keep warm.

2. Season scallops with salt and pepper. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in skillet over high heat until just smoking. Add scallops and cook until well browned, about 1 1/2 minutes per side. (Do this in two batches for crisp, well-browned exterior.)

3. Toss spinach with dressing and season with salt and pepper. Top with scallops and bacon and serve.

Um, yum.

The Century of the Self

Just finished watching the first part of this British documentary series, and it's totally fascinating. I especially love the story behind getting women to smoke. And selling self-expression through fashion.

Speaking of fashion, did you realize the fashion industry is copyright-free? I guess I'd never really thought about it, but it makes sense. Anyway, this is an interesting talk by Johanna Blakley on the benefits of fashion's free culture, and how other creative industries like music and software might learn from its openness.

Beet & Bacon Salad

This was a yummy salad I made for lunch the other day. No recipe, just kind of a mash-up of random ingredients I needed to use up. Fresh mixed greens tossed in a mustard vinaigrette with beets, hard-boiled eggs and a little bacon sprinkled on top. (I was supposed to lay off the red meat, but another recipe called for it, so I couldn't let the extra go to waste right?)

Snacking

I'm the worst when it comes to snacking. I have a salty tooth and I love a good crunch, which usually leads me to very bad things. I've been trying to come up with some healthier alternatives at Summer Camp, and here are two. Edamame was my midnight snack yesterday. Always delicious. Today for lunch I made a crabmeat dip with fresh herbs, celery, lemon juice, a little horseradish and other stuff (but no mayo, my other weakness). It was...well...good enough! At least it kept me away from the homemade brownies my sister left in her freezer...

Slow City

"Even sex is on a stopwatch these days. I like a quickie as much as the next person, but there's an awful lot to be gained from slowing down."
-Carl Honore

I just watched this really great talk by Carl Honore about our need to slow down. Of course I knew about the Slow Food Movement, but I must have missed articles on similar movements for Sex and Cities. I even bought the "Slow" issue of Good Magazine earlier this year, and it still passed me by. [Insert slow joke here.]

Anyway, maybe everyone but me already knows there's this whole Cittaslow movement that started in Italy in 1999. Super intrigued by this -- especially in my "stop-and-smell-the-roses" camp mode -- so I looked it up:

"The main goal of Cittaslow is to enlarge the philosophy of Slow Food to local communities and to government of towns, applying the concepts of ecogastronomy at practice of everyday life. Municipalities which join the association are motivated by curious people of a recovered time, where man is still protagonist of the slow and healthy succession of seasons, respectful of citizens’ health, the authenticity of products and good food, rich of fascinating craft traditions of valuable works of art, squares, theaters, shops, cafés, restaurants, places of the spirit and unspoiled landscapes, characterized by spontaneity of religious rites, respect of traditions through the joy of a slow and quiet living."

(I like how they took their time with that last sentence there.)

Hmm. Who do I know who might be interested in this....

Hey Phillip Cooley, wanna start a local Detroit Cittaslow chapter? It would have to just be a small part of downtown, because I think you gotta have fewer than 50,000 residents to join. But really, seeing as the U.S. movement is headquartered in...wait for it...Sonoma Valley (of course, right?), I think they really NEED us. We can make this SO much cooler than a bunch of old white wine drinkers ever could. (And by white I mean the drinkers, not the wine. I'm sure some of those folks prefer a nice merlot or cabernet.)

Plus Phil, I know you need another Detroit project. So think about it...and take your time. Really, no rush.

I really like the Cittaslow mission. I'm ALL about "authenticity" and "unspoiled landscapes." Really, I'm pretty much for anything the Italians do when it comes to food, fashion & architecture. Plus, it seems to go hand-in-hand with Transition U.S. and BALLE and other good pro-local movements.

But there has to be a balance between local and global, slow and fast. I like Tuscan villages, but I also like super energetic and dynamic places like New York and London and Toronto. In fact, often I find that a beautiful cathedral or park is made even more serene and spiritual by its proximity to the hum of commercial activity. Too sleepy, and you lose that verve and vitality, ya know? Cities gotta have some contrast and diversity, or they're just...

{yawn}

(This reminds me, another way city planning gurus describe "yawn" is with an acronym: "PMS" (Pale, Male & Stale). It's the trilogy of uncreative places, they say. For the record, I think the old men of Tuscany & Sonoma are usually pretty tan from hanging out in their vineyards, so I'm not sure they qualify.)

Speaking of slow, lately I've been growing super impatient with the glacial speed of change in Detroit. I've found myself thinking (or worse, saying): "For god sakes, can we pick up the pace, people?" What I'm talking about is not really daily living -- more the collective, civic doing. Like how long have we been talking about the need for a light rail system? Can we please get that M1 line built already? Because the waiting is making me batty. Andale!

But all this Slow Movement stuff reminds me there may be a bright side to inertia. Maybe we have a better chance in Detroit of growing neighborhoods and businesses slowly & organically? Maybe we can avoid those boom-&-bust trends that other more "popular" places experience?

This came up in a long chat I had recently with a professor from Austin, TX who came to Detroit to study community change & the media. Austin, like Portland, is one of those poster kids for "creative cities," but he said it might have jumped the shark. Detroit, he claimed, was far more interesting.

Yeah. Interesting, for sure. Healthy? Nuh-uh. No way.

It would be the WORST injustice to the people of Detroit if we stopped pushing impatiently for creativity and prosperity (via public amenities like transit) because we're concerned we might get "too cool" or something. Like it always really kills me when hipsters suggest Detroit is awesome just the way it is. Try telling that to a DPS kid. Or a working mother without a car.

Hmm, maybe Detroit is not quite ready for the Slow Movement just yet. Maybe we need to get our heart rate up a little before we can slow it back down again.

Anyway, here's the video that got me thinkin' about all this:

Picnic Fun

Ooooh, why didn't I stumble upon these awesome Picnic Boxes from Boxsal when I was looking for some earlier this summer? (I really gotta check Design Sponge more.) Thirty-five bucks and compostable plates, cups & utensils. Or maybe the clever Matthew Naimi can create a Detroit version for next season? In my dreams, I would even go a step further and have local eateries like Mudgie's and Russell Street Deli fill them with yummy picnic treats for impromptu Belle Isle outings. How much would folks pay for this, I wonder?

Barbequed Pork & Pineapple

I don't know exactly what to call this dish. No recipe, just tossing a bunch of odds & ends together. Maybe a Hawaiian Taco? My initial intention was a Vietnamese Spring Roll, but I couldn't get the rice paper wraps to soften and roll just right. Anyway, it's a tortilla filled with barbequed pork, shrimp & pineapple with cilantro garnish. If you haven't noticed from previous posts, I'm basically sprinkling cilantro on everything these days. Oh-so-good.

Why Camp

My little Summer Camp session here in Portland is inspired, in part, by my childhood camp experience. Yes, before I became a big city girl, I portaged a canoe or two. (This is why I'm so solid, Patrick Thompson.)

Every summer as a teenager (7th-12th grade, I think?) I went to this magical place called Camp Manito-wish in northern Wisconsin. Three weeks of canoeing, kayaking, swimming, sailing, horseback riding, nature walks, archery, riflery, crafting and singing around the campfire in the Northwoods. 

I knew it was a special place because my mother, who had also gone to camp as a child, said, "Wow, this is nice. Really Claire, not all camps are this nice."

We reluctantly turned in our candy bars and hair-dryers and hand-held devices (then Walkmen) at the registration desk. No television, no telephones, no clocks. You knew it was mealtime when you heard the bell toll at Nash Lodge. 

God, how I loved to hear that bell -- especially when we were stuck in the nature lodge with all that creepy taxidermy. (I preferred arts & crafts so I could weave my lanyard bracelets, thank you very much.)

All first-year campers were sent out on a 3-day canoe trip through the streams and lakes of the Manitowish Waters. We packed and carried everything we needed (tents, stoves, pots & pans, food, rain gear), and we paddled and portaged our own canoes. The camp sites we frequented were not the kind with RV hook-ups and toilets. In fact, I think somewhere I still have my copy of the highly acclaimed, bestselling book that should be owned by every adventure-seeker:

Life "on the trail" (as we intrepid sojourners called it), was not all sunsets and s'mores. Sometimes Mother Nature would be good to us, other times not so much. "Wet" and "heavy" are the first words that come to mind. Tears were shed and terse words exchanged. And remember, we were too young for booze, which is really such a vital component of most adult outdoor recreation if you think about it. It was always good to get back home.

As campers progressed through their years at Manito-wish, the trips became longer, more challenging and further afield. Five days, seven days, 14 days. Backpacking in the Porcupine Mountains, treks through Isle Royale National Park. The reward, of course, for longer journeys with more challenging terrain was sweeping views of Lake Superior. Oh, and maybe bragging rights when you returned to school in the fall. ("What did you do this summer?")

After my 14-day trip, I would have been happy to retire my camper card and call it a day. Even then, I aspired to be "cosmopolitan" and liked magazines and movies more than muddy, mosquito-y wilderness. But there was an expectation I would continue for at least one more year. I had now graduated from basic camp to the big-kids Outpost program, and the next rung on the ladder was "The Western."  

Here's the description, straight from their website:

"The Western is a demanding 24-day backpacking trip that takes place in either Montana's Beartooth Mountain Range or Wyoming's Wind River Range. Your group will hike both on and off the trail, above and below the treeline. Over snow-capped mountains, through grassy meadow, and navigate rugged boulder fields to reach high alpine lakes. Off-trail hiking will test your endurance, route finding skills, leadership skills, and determination."

I like how they use the word "demanding" right there in the first sentence. If I was their marketing person, I might choose "rewarding" or something a little less intimidating. But points for honesty, I guess. And expectation-setting...

So anyway, off I went to the Beartooth Mountains in Montana with my oldest friend and lifelong camp buddy, Courtney. I'm sure I acted cool, but I was scared out of my mind. I mean, 24 days without a toilet or shower? (Well, we had one pit stop in the middle.) Three whole weeks of dirty, damp clothes and dry, boring food? (Basically a lot of mac & cheese and Ry Krisps with PB&J.) 

Right, who wants ice-cold soda when you can drink lukewarm water with those gross Potable Aqua pellets? And who needs shampoo, or long-distance calls from your boyfriend, or sleeping in on Sunday mornings? 

Um, that would be ME. I do. A mattress is kinda nice, too.

Of course the scariest part was not the lack of creature comforts, but the "endurance" and "determination" stuff. The rugged boulder fields, the treacherous uphill climbs. Whatever my father says, I am not a natural-born athlete. I can hit a tennis ball okay, I enjoy a little skiing. But that's different than plodding up switchbacks with a 60-pound pack on your back.

Could I really do this? Did I WANT to really do this? 

No, not really. If given a choice, I would have happily traded places with friends on their more relaxing summer vacations. Like fishing and barbequing at a cabin in the woods somewhere. That seemed plenty nature-y enough.

But I did it. And I survived. And no, there was no "aha" moment on a mountain top that changed my life. No major epiphany in a thunderstorm that revealed some special purpose or gift I could offer the world. I mean, I was still a kid, I wasn't looking for some big revelation or transformation. I was just trying to get to the end of the trail so I could have a hot shower and a warm meal already. Or at least to the next plateau so I could catch my breath and take in the view.

Yeah, that's me, 5th from left. After this shot, we broke into "The Hills Are Alive..."

The "aha" moment would actually come later -- at a Camp Manito-wish information session in my hometown. The Director came to pitch and recruit, and alumni and their parents shared stories with prospective campers. I remember my mother standing up at one point to offer her testimonial, and -- very uncharacteristic of her -- she cried. She said that camp had given her children more confidence than anything else they had ever done.

Mind you, we were highly programmed kids -- music lessons, art and dance classes, theater, sports, the works. But I had never seen her gush quite like this to my violin or tennis instructors.

So I was surprised by her emotion, and like a true teen, embarrassed. (Mom! Come on, sit down.) But of course she was absolutely right. All these years later, I can still say that completing The Western was one of my proudest moments. And I'm sure the experience gave me more confidence to do other things later, like go faraway to college, or find a place to live on my own in a new city. After you've pitched your own tent in the rain, you know you can figure it out.

Lord knows, I didn't get any "Best Backpacker" awards -- in fact, I was a real wuss on those rugged boulder fields. And I wasn't all misty-eyed when it was over -- I ran to the shower and devoured my dinner with more gratitude for modern civilization than ever before.

Other Manito-wishers, including my sister, would go on to tackle even longer, more challenging expeditions than this. Like true mountain climbing and repelling, not just backpacking. Many would become camp counselors and trip leaders (which just sounds super hellish to me, herding all those kids --"Stop whining and keep paddling or we'll never get there!"). I have a ton of respect for those people -- also folks, like my father, who have trekked the Himalayas and still want to go further and higher. Or members of the military, who train and serve under much more extreme conditions than I could ever imagine. All I can say is wow, just wow. After having a taste, I'm not sure I could stomach a whole meal.

And I'm okay with that. I mean, would I be a better human if I pushed myself to do something like The Western again? Absolutely. Will I? Probably not. But I'm glad I did once upon a time. And if I ever have children, I will want them to have the same experience. Even if they grow up in a city. Especially if they grow up in a city. To unplug, to be in a new environment, to stretch different muscles, and to even be a wee bit uncomfortable for a little while is HUGE.

It's not just kids who need this. We adults need Summer Camp, too. And I don't mean vacation (which is really a more accurate word for my cushy PDX retreat here). Vacation is for relaxing; camp is for stretching. I realize lots of folks make time for this in their lives -- yoga retreats, eco-adventure travel, etc. But expensive enrichment experiences are out of reach for too many of us. Sure, I would love to travel more, but often it is a luxury I can't afford. There are always more pressing responsibilities and commitments. Life gets in the way of, well, living sometimes.

So I'm challenging myself to create my own annual Summer Camp experience wherever and however I can. Summer Camp doesn't have to be a place (though the empty house of a family member is certainly a great deal). It can be a state of mind -- just a period of time to disconnect all those wires and tap into my inner camper for a little while. Try new things, make mistakes, try again or try something different. A time not to be idle, but active in new ways -- physically is good, mentally even better. (Spiritually is a whole other blog.)

Do I sound like Oprah? Yeah, that means I should shut up now and just go practice what I preach. But first, huge thanks to Mom & Dad for sending me to Manito-wish. (Oh, and Mom, any chance those tears were actually memories of the peace & quiet you enjoyed while we were away for three whole weeks at a time? Yeah, I can see why you loved camp, too.) Also, thanks to my sister for having me here -- and for all the fun photographs around your house to spark memories of ye olden days in Boulder Junction, WI and Red Lodge, Montana.

Okay, back to camp...

Lox Love

There's nothing I love more than a good New York bagel with lox and cream cheese. Since we're trying to be carb-free here at Summer Camp (well, with a few exceptions, like pita bread), I can't do the bagel part. But come on, you can't come to Portland and not eat salmon. So here's my spin on it. Obviously not as good as the real deal, but close.

BAMN!

Ooooh, a little excitement in the neighborhood last night. I was sitting on the front porch with a mojito, getting my "happy camper" groove on, when I heard chanting that sounded like "F*ck the Police" approaching in the darkness. Yeah, that caught my attention.

Ba-bye blissful bubble of peace and privilege! Hellooo police brutality...

I craned my neck to spy a group of protesters marching toward Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., just a couple blocks from here. No, I didn't put down my cocktail and join them. But I did get a quick look at the banner they were carrying:

This photo is not mine, I found it online at Portland's Independent Media Center when I investigated today. (Thank god for independent media, btw. We must preserve and protect at all cost.)

Anyway, I love a good protest almost as much as I hate police brutality. But they lost me with the hyperbole, and then sealed the deal by breaking windows at the local community college. C'mon, people - seriously? (Yeah, I'm talking to you, hippie-gangstas. When Malcolm said "by any means necessary," he didn't mean a bunch of white kids in black hoods walking the streets at night causing destruction to schools and businesses on MLK Blvd. In some places, I think they call that harassment and vandalism.)

Context is everything, isn't it? I had just finished watching the first season of The Wire, so I was feeling sympathetic to the police. If I had just watched Do the Right Thing, I might have felt differently. But then today I found the video of Oscar Grant's shooting by Oakland, California police (the reason for this protest). Yeah, pretty obvious abuse of power. Completely intolerable and protest-worthy. Not at all okay.

Sigh. Still thinking about the whole idea of "by any means necessary," I went back to read more about what Malcolm said.

"It doesn't mean that I advocate violence, but at the same time, I am not against using violence in self-defense. I don't call it violence when it's self-defense. I call it intelligence."

Smart man. I wonder what he would have made of these protesters? Well, I know what he might have said pre-pilgrimage, but he got a bit softer after returning from Mecca, didn't he? No more sweeping indictments of white people. All peace and brotherly love. So maybe this:

"Early in life I had learned that if you want something, you had better make some noise."

Noise I can agree with. Turn the volume up, up, UP, I say. Raise your voice. And you know what this means....I just gotta post the best movie scene ever of all time. I know you've seen it a million trillion times, but it really never gets old. In fact, I think it should be what we recite instead of the Pledge of Allegiance. Seriously, imagine millions of darling little schoolchildren across the land exclaiming in unison each morning:

"I'm a human being, god damn it! My life has value!" 

Oh, what a wonderful world that would be. Enjoy:

Painting

I am painting. Not well. But I promised myself that would be okay.

Tim was kind enough to share his brushes and paints with me, so the other day I got out a canvas and went at it. Didn't think about it too much. Just wanted to see what would come.

When I stood back and looked, I realized I was trying (without really knowing it) to mimic my favorite painters. I had challenged myself to loosen up and not be so exacting, but that didn't happen. 

I studied architecture, after all. My very favorite thing to sketch (usually while watching TV) is floor plans. So I can draw a straight line without a ruler, that's cool. But with painting, I hoped I would be a little freer. Yeah, not so much.

My favorite painters are the American realists. More specifically, urban and architectural landscapes. Edward Hopper is tops in my book, the master of capturing people in their environments. Also adore Charles Sheeler's smokestacks and Georgia O'Keefe's skyscrapers. Hugh Ferriss' sketches and Berenice Abbott's photographs, too. In Detroit, I love Stephen Magsig, Taurus Burns and Darcel Deneau's paintings and Stephen McGee and Dante Stella's snapshots.

Not sure what it says about me, but I really dig a good shadow. Themes of loneliness and resignation, the alienation of modern life. But also the audacity of modernity, the architecture of aspiration. 

When I look at my favorite, the Radiator Building by Georgia O'Keefe, I'm reminded of E.B. White's great quote about New York:

"It is to the nation what the white church spire is to the village—the visible symbol of aspiration and faith, the white plume saying that the way is up."

This, in a nutshell, is why I love cities.

But shit. I might have just psyched myself out of painting today by looking for inspiration from the creme de la creme. Don't measure yourself against masters, silly girl. That's a recipe for disappointment. Process, not product. Try, try again...

________

Paintings, clockwise from upper left: “Radiator Building—Night, New York" by Georgia O’Keefe (1927). “Early Sunday Morning” by Edward Hopper (1930). “Automat” by Edward Hopper (1927). “American Landscape” by Charles Sheeler (1920). “Smokestacks in the Cass Corridor” by Taurus Burns (2009). Center: “Citylights 54” by Stephen Magsig (2010).

Storytelling

"Don't tell people how to live their lives. Just tell them stories. 

They can figure out how to apply the stories to their lives."

-Randy Pausch

I am obsessed with good storytelling lately. Can't get enough of The Moth or This American Life or old Def Poetry Jam videos. Love the StoryCorps project. Love political satire and stand-up comedy, too.

I'm already in awe of people who can write good stories and poems and lyrics. But to also have the gift of speaking these words powerfully is a whole 'nother level of awesome. Sarah Jones and Anna Deveare Smith come to mind. David Sedaris and Dan Savage aren't too shabby either. I've always been ga-ga over the great folk songwriters. Sometimes I listen to Common and Mos Def, but I could use more hip hop in my life.

(Oh my god, Dan Savage's story about his mother had me in tears in a parked car on a beautiful spring day. I just dug it up again, and yup, still good. You can listen here, at the 37:47 mark.)

I think this talk by Carmen Agra Deedy (also, incidentally, about her mother) so beautifully illustrates the importance of good storytelling. Just her voice alone is intoxicating. I could listen to her for hours.

I aspire to be a good storyteller someday. This is a pretty big aspiration. I can't even tell a good joke. But I do so love words and conversation. I'm a Gemini, after all. Maybe if I practice...

Mission Figs & Mango Chutney

Sometimes I can't be bothered to cook, especially when it's hot. But I'm trying really hard to prepare food, not just put my hand in a bag of pita chips when I'm hungry. So this was my little meal the other night. Slices of pate and parmesan cheese, mission figs wrapped in prosciutto, and a dollop of mango chutney (mixed with a little cream cheese) on the side. Wish I had more sophisticated crackers, but made do with salteens. All in all, delish!

To Whom It May Concern

Dearest AriZona Beverage Co.:

I drink your Green Tea like water. If I could hook myself up to an IV drip, I would. That sweet brew of yours keeps me smiling throughout the day. It also helped me get off the Diet Coke hooch. That was a pretty major transition for me. Years added to my life, mos def.

(Sorry, I've been watching The Wire.)

I also like that you were born in Brooklyn. I've been sore on Arizona ever since their anti-immigration bullshit. I'd hate to be drinking tea that was in any way hostile to my fellow Americans, wherever they were born. I am a Democrat, after all. Actually, I think I might be registered as an Independent. Whatever, you get my point.

But lately, as much as I love you, I've been feeling guilty. See, I pride myself on my light carbon footprint. I walk to work, I eat local produce, but then I buy these big bulky plastic containers filled with your liquid heaven. Al Gore says that's wasteful and contributes to climate change, which doesn't make me feel so good. Even if I recycle. Even if my collection of aluminum cans (which are so so pretty, tell the designer I said nice work on that!) will be re-used as cladding at the Green Garage.

So the reason I'm writing is to THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for your best invention ever: the Powder Stix! Oh sweet Stix, where have you been all my life? For all I know, you've been making and selling them for years. I suppose Detroit party stores don't offer the latest and greatest in eco-friendly packaging. I should probably get out more.

Anyway, I had to come all the way to Portland to meet my destiny. I'm just glad I walked down the right supermarket aisle.

And yes {blush}, it was love at first sight. You had me at "on-the-go." So much punch and portability, so little packaging! (Well, a bit more than necessary, but much, much better.)

Now I vow to faithfully use and promote your Stix, in sickness and in health. You can count on me to keep them in my purse, in my glove compartment, in my bike basket -- within reach at all times. When I need a Ginseng fix, I'll just rip open one of those cute little pocket-size packages and pour into my water bottle. (Not the kind you can just toss in the rubbish bin. The kind you have to wash and re-use. Which, I admit, is so much more work. But I want to make Al happy. He seems pretty concerned.)

Who knows, I might even share a few of my Stix with others. I think President Obama would like that. Especially if it's with a Republican. I'm all about finding common ground. And if powder tea mix can't bring us together, what can?

Yours faithfully,
Me

p.s. I like what you did there with the "x" in Stix, by the way. Kinda like you did with the capital "Z" in your name. Very fresh & hip, I dig it. That kind of innovation is why you are the #1 selling iced tea in America, no doubt. Keep it up!

Unintentional Indecency

So I'm re-reading The Great Gatsby. The book opens with narrator Nick Carraway sharing some advice from his father about not being too quick to criticize others. "Just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages you've had," father tells son. So Nick makes a habit of reserving judgment by reminding himself of this:

"A sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth."

I laughed out loud when I read this. Lord knows I've had some experiences at the shop that have tested my own expectations of decency.

First, it's important to say that on the whole, my customers are exceedingly wonderful, generous, kind people. I love our conversations. In fact, it is one of my very favorite things about my job. I've had some of the best chats of my life sitting behind that counter. Wouldn't trade those moments for the world.

But there are some (none of you who are reading this, of course), who have really pushed the limits of my openness and friendliness. Unfortunately it seems that F. Scott Fitzgerald was right: basic good manners elude an awful lot of people. And more often, I have found, it's the folks who should know better.

There are several different brands of RUDE, but the one I'll rant about here is a particular condescension about the city masked in concern -- or worse, charity.

Mind you, it's often the tone as much as the words. And, I hate to say it, the appearance and address of the messenger contribute to the overall effect, as well. Perhaps it's my own prejudice that throws me off -- I expect a certain decorum from older white suburban ladies. Sorry to stereotype (especially my own people), but they are the worst offenders. Not all. Not even most. Just a very special few.

(Not these lovely people. They just kinda sorta look like this sometimes.)

Some favorite moments, for your amusement:

"It's a shame no one knows you're here."
This from a very progressive peace activist lady from whom you might expect a little extra sensitivity and political correctness. I still regret not inviting her to flip through our guest book to peruse the thousands of customer names. Instead, I bit my tongue to prevent an equally indecent retort.

"Who shops here?"
Asked with doubt or disbelief, not curiosity. As if there weren't hundreds of thousands of human souls still living in this god forsaken city. Listen, I am happy to share market demographics and trends with folks who are genuinely interested. But use that tone with me, and I close up like a clam.

"I like the city. I used to live down here and might return someday. But right now, Detroit is completely unlivable."
Mind you, this was after I told her I lived in the neighborhood. And you know, I was still very much "alive" right there before her eyes. "Unlivable" is a pretty strong word, isn't it? But I'm no dummy, I understand Detroit's got challenges in this department. In fact, I usually cop to them when serious prospects inquire about moving to the city. But a statement like this makes me defensive, so what do I do? I look at her like she's crazy. And then, suddenly, I'm just as rude as she is. I hate when this happens.

"I'm so glad to see good things finally happening here."
Again, this is all in the tone, because I agree with the basic premise. But the way this statement is phrased, it sounds like nothing good has happened in Detroit for decades. So I bristle. Just like I do when people use the words "pioneer" or "save" or "fix." I've come to really hate the nomenclature of revitalization. Once in awhile, one of these words slips into my own vocabulary, and I regret it instantaneously. I also cringe when these words are used to describe me in the media, but I've learned there's not much I can do about that.

"How are you doing here? I mean really, how is business? Really?"
I appreciate the interest and concern, I really do. So I can handle just one of these questions. Like you ask how we're doing, I say great, thanks for asking, and then we move on to other topics. But if you stall there, trying to dig deeper or fish for more info, as if you really expect me to offer up my sales figures, we have a problem. You don't ask your friends how much money they make, do you? (Well, you shouldn't.) I realize sometimes my fragile but hopeful little shop is held up as some bellweather of Detroit progress or something, and people are concerned about our sustainability. Guess what? Me, too. But I'm not gonna share that with strangers. How am I doing? Better if you buy something! Please and thank you. {Smile.}

"I've lived in metro-Detroit my whole life, but I've never heard of you. How was I supposed to know you were here?"
I hear this a lot. As if some folks expect a personal invitation. Unfortunately, my budget isn't big enough to send a mailer to the 5 million people in SE Michigan. So I patiently explain that I don't have a lot of money to advertise, but perhaps they have seen our ads in Metro Times or Detroit Home or on Facebook? Or on days I'm feeling particularly ornery, I simply ask: "Do you read? I mean, newspapers or magazines? Because we've been written up a few times. Detroit News, Free Press, HOUR, Model D, New York Times?" (Thanks to Joe Posch for reminding me a little bit of sarcasm is okay when used appropriately.)

"Someone should really write an article about this place."
See above. And below. One of my proudest media moments, chins 'n all. Almost better than the New York Times. I mean, The Chronicle? With Coleman Young? It raised my street cred by like twenty points. I'll always be grateful to Bankole Thompson for that. For misquoting me, too. He made me sound so much better.

Some other favorite customer comments, slightly less innocent:

• "You really should reach out to other businesses. Not just the hip new places. Like the guy who owns the Church's Chicken on 7 Mile."
• "You really should think about going out to the neighborhoods. Like setting up a mobile shop in underserved areas to introduce new audiences to design."
• "I'm not sure about this location. You really should think about moving somewhere with more visibility."

Basically anything that begins with "You really should" gets my back up now. I realize being open to unsolicited advice is part of my job. And actually, I really appreciate suggestions -- especially from regular, loyal customers. If you spend your money there, I am genuinely interested in your feedback. I do my best to listen, especially when it comes to merchandise. (You should have more everyday basics / You should have more special one-of-a-kind stuff. You should bring in more new stuff / You should bring back that stuff you used to sell.)

I take this all into consideration, even when the input is completely contradictory. And I try not to take it too personally. You can't please everyone.

But if you tell me I should move to a "better" location (like that time Mr. Taubman suggested, in one of my very favorite back-handed compliments of all time, that my shop was good enough for his Twelve Oaks Mall and would do better there), that's when I start to squirm. Right, "Bureau of Urban Living" in a suburban mall. That would be too sublimely ironic even for me.

Or if you suggest I'm not doing enough to bring design and retail to the masses, I'll have to gently remind you that this is a business. I donate to local organizations, I do what I can. But if you think I'm going to load up a bunch of stemless martini glasses and peddle them in a more "underserved" neighborhood than my own, you're dreaming.

(Please don't make me do this. I love people and a little adventure, but not this much.)

And yes, absolutely, while it would be nice to see all the small business owners of the region (franchises included) come together and hold hands in solidarity and harmony, making this happen is not my responsibility. I offer advice when aspiring entrepreneurs ask, I collaborate with my neighboring businesses. I stay connected as best I can, but there are limits. In fact, if I spent half the energy I dedicate to "extra-curricular" civic activities on building the shop's financial success, it would probably be in better shape.

Moreover (and I know this sounds harsh), but if the Grosse Pointe lady who made this remark had spent even a dollar in my shop before or after offering these bons mots, I might have taken her more seriously. In her defense, I think she might have had a distorted sense of my prosperity. Like my "hip" business was making more money than the Church's Chicken guy. I don't have to look at his receipts to confidently say this isn't the case.

(Note to self: Selling fried chicken might have been a smarter business move. There's always next time.)

Sigh. I share these anecdotes mostly just to kvetch. I know I'm not the only Detroiter who gets frustrated with this stuff, especially the ever-popular grocery store question. It's part of what binds us together, our common annoyance with ignorance. And we love to wear our defiance like a badge of honor, don't we?

But it's also good to remind ourselves of how our words might be received by others. Like everyone else, I can be a know-it-all who often thinks my insights are oh-so-helpful. I can also, obviously, be very sensitive and defensive -- certainly too much so. Offering and accepting criticism is life, and handling it gracefully is what separates men from children.

(A quick wit and a bit of humility also help. I am working on this. Maybe a cute bonnet would inspire customers to do a little bit of self-editing, too?)

(You wouldn't tell this nice lady to peddle her wares at the mall or in the ghetto, would you?)

That said, there's something unique about Detroit, I think, that lends itself to a level of unintentional indecency that I somehow suspect is less acceptable in other places. People say things they would never dare utter in a friend's home or business because, well, that would be rude.

I think there's a prevailing perception throughout Michigan that we don't know what the hell we're doing in Detroit. And God knows, there is evidence of this everywhere. A lot of us, myself included, are improvising and learning as we go, making plenty of mistakes along the way. I'm not an expert at this -- but wait, are you? Then by all means, bring it. Come join us and give it a go. Open another shop right next door to me, in fact. I will love you, even if you put me out of business. Really. I'm serious.

But until you hang out your shingle, a little decency goes a long way in fostering dignity and confidence, respect and trust. If you haven't noticed, we have a little regional cooperation problem going on, and stuff like this doesn't help. We city folk need to be more welcoming, for sure. Help us by giving us more opportunities to say "you're welcome."

Which brings us to the moral of the story: Let us ALL be kind and compassionate and decent to each other. Let us think about what we say, and how we sound when we say it. And when we can't resist sharing our infinite wisdom with others, let us offer productive solutions instead of calling out obvious problems. We all have eyes and brains -- even us po' folk in Detroit. Believe me, it's not usually a lack of good ideas or intentions. It's probably a lack of resources. And more people who give a damn. People with high standards and super-sized social consciousness. People like...well, YOU.

Yes, we NEED you! (There, we said it.) You too can help "save" Detroit! The best way is not to tell us how to make things better, or to wait for an invitation to get engaged. Advice is okay, but action is better. Just dive in and do your thing. One purchase, one tree planting, one hour of DPS Reading Corps at a time.

In return, we promise not to judge if you ask where to buy groceries. (I'm told we downtown residents can sometimes be a little bit intimidating to outsiders and newcomers.) So here's a tip: "Where do you shop?" is a perfectly legitimate question for someone new to a city. "Where on earth do you shop?" is different. (But you get that, right?)

Oh, and here's the very best part: Once you truly take ownership of the city (no matter where you lay your head), something TOTALLY MAGICAL and TRANSFORMATIONAL will happen. You won't say "you should really do this" or "they should really do that" quite as much anymore.

I'm not a native Detroiter, but I can spot a "real" Detroiter when I see one. Real Detroiters use possessive pronouns. Real Detroiters say I and we.

Indeed, all the people in this world haven't had the advantages I've had. I can't tell you how fortunate I am to be doing something I love. The best part is being surrounded by amazing comrades who say every day -- not just through words, but through action -- "We can do it!" You are good, decent humans and I'm so grateful to you all. Even the folks who trip over their tongues sometimes. If you're coming to the shop -- let's be honest, if you're coming to Detroit at all, really -- I know you're good people. I know you care. Just showing up is half the battle. Thank you for showing up.