Friday, August 18, 2017

Leave your hate at the gate

Dear white nationalist groups,

We San Franciscans would like all to know that hate, weapons or any intent to incite violence is not welcome in our fair city. Please leave these items and ideologies at home or check them at the Golden Gate upon entering our city.

While you are visiting, I’d like to welcome you to skip attendance at any rally or organized meeting about white supremacy or that continues ideas of racism, hate or anti- religion/gender/group/anyone etc. Please don’t go there, but DO try one (or many) of these alternatives listed below and bring only your self, an open mind, and an open soul. 

Connect with your Higher Power (your God) and rediscover how small each of us are in relation to the world

  • Attend a service at Glide Memorial Methodist church. Be inspired by the sermon, the congregation, the famous choir and musicians, and perhaps shed a tear when you realize your soul needed a hug and this did the trick.
  • Head to Ocean Beach and sit on a sand dune. Look out at the Pacific Ocean and realize how vast the world is. You might see a migrating whale if you’re lucky. While you’re there, give back to nature by picking up and disposing of just a few trash items even if it wasn’t yours.
  • Attend a meditation class. They are plentiful here in the city of San Francisco. As you learn to meditate and breathe again, you may begin to clear your mind and gain some insight on the dark feelings and thoughts you have. This is the first step in letting your anger go.
  • Go to a planetarium show at the Academy of Sciences. After viewing one of these shows you will remember that each of us is just a microscopic dot in the fabric of the universe. Perhaps your hatred really isn’t so important in the larger scheme of things. 

Give to someone else

  • Volunteer for the homeless at a homeless shelter or a church. While there, take a moment to hear someone’s story and challenge your self to make someone smile who might be feeling down and alone.
  • Give up your seat on public transportation to an elderly, injured, disabled, pregnant person, or really anyone who looks like they would have their day brightened by this small act of kindness.
  • Buy a coffee for the person in line behind you at the local coffee shop. 

Explore San Francisco's diversity and maybe some exercise 

  • Climb up any one of our highest hills (we have plenty). Challenge yourself to make it to the top then once there take in the 360 view and just wonder how does this city make it work? (It's not perfect, but we’re proud of our efforts!)
  • Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. While you are taking in the views, marvel at how many different people from all over the world are sharing this experience with you.
  • Nourish yourself and eat tasty food from all over the world at one of our local restaurants. Try a cuisine you’ve never tried before! While enjoying your meal, look around and take in the local culture while you’re there. 
  • Bring an open mind and a willingness to be entertained by going to a drag show.
  • Head to Golden Gate park to find a swing dance class, join the roller skating group, a yoga class, rent a bike, or perhaps find a 5k run that is celebrating something while also being a fundraiser
  • Attend a love-in dance party counter event to any hate rally. Learn that love, actually, is all around us. 


Sunday, August 17, 2014

Hammer it Out

Two weeks ago, when I was last in the studio, my project was defined by the fact that Jean, the Monday night studio assistant, had come to my night to get my advice on raising a copper bowl. 
My copper bowl now 7"Wx3"H
Raising bowls is quite a bit of fun and a great way to hammer out frustrations. It can get the creative juices flowing too as you find a meditative rhythm with each strike.  I've been working on a bowl for a couple of months now, raising from a flat 6" copper disc.  Since hammering metal over a metal stake is loud, I can't work on this during pivotal class instruction days -- I have to wait until the class is sawing, filing or soldering their own projects.  I also can't work on it if someone needs my assistance.  I think the students are afraid to interrupt me while wielding hammers.   The day Jean came in, the class was in project mode so she and I pulled out the stakes and smithing hammers and proceeded to whack away.

Jean raising her bowl
The metal has to be annealed, a process of softening the metal by heating it to 'red' hot (really pink hot), then cooled.  This heating process makes the metal basically putty in your hands.  As you hammer, you compress the molecules together - work hardening the piece as you go- so you really only get a few rounds with the hammer before it's time to heat it up.  When it's annealed, it looks different, a soft matte finish to the metal with a light foggy pink tone.  When work hardened the copper gets a slightly more orange tone and becomes shiny.  Once annealed you can bend it with your bare hands, but you must allow your metal to cool or quench it in water before handling it!

As always, kids don't try this at home.
My bowl after annealing in the kiln

Saturday, August 2, 2014

The Metal Studio - Projects from July

PMC Peacock: brainstorming stone placement
PMC Peacock Before Firing.
In between metal fabrication projects, I've been toying with PMC -- Precious Metal Clay.   PMC is basically fine silver imbedded in a clay medium that once fired in a kiln, the medium is burnt off, leaving the clay behind.  In this piece, I've rolled out PMC and stamp embossed it with a peacock pattern, I cut the shape out that I wanted, dried it and planned embellishments with CZs, or lab grown diamonds.  These stones will be fired into the piece with no damage to them during firing due to their high heat threshold.  

Reticulated Silver With Black Pearl
The most recent project I finished was a tiny purple black pearl set in a 1' x 1.5' piece of reticulated silver. Reticulation is a process where you heat sterling silver sheet to almost melting, after having heated it a few times to bring the fine silver to the surface.  One of the jeweler suppliers I use, Rio Grande, has a lot of great step by step tutorials.  Here's a link to their tutorial on reticulation, but I must also advise:
kids, don't do this at home. 

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


We were met at the Montreal airport on August 4th by Jacques' father. After a year of trying to learn Bahasa Indonesia I've been faced with the challenge of remembering French, Quebec French that is. Luckily Canada is a bilingual country so on my lazy days, I can just ask any waiter, store clerk, or metro attendant my questions in English and they don't even assume I'm American. But listening to Jacques and his family speak, I'm struck with how little I can comprehend when the Montreal accent comes into play

I had been home for two weeks and just sinking into being in my own space and my own world but in Montreal, I still feel like I'm in a foreign world that has many similarities and differences from the U.S. But here I have the comfort of family which is feeling more and more like my own family with their familiar dynamics: His mother's care in buying a basic and useful article of clothing for Jacques' while out shopping, his father's questions on if and how smart we are saving money.

This is my 4th time visiting Montreal and second time in the summer. The last time I was here the chairs we dined on last evening on the patio out doors were covered in snow. This time, after what we've been told has been an unusual summer of we've encountered hot, humid and sunny days that remind me of many days spent perspiring in Indonesia.


After our first couple of days here, we traveled to Quebec City which celebrated its 400th year in existence only 2 years ago placing it among the oldest cities in North America.

The old 'centre ville,' where we spent most of our time, was teeming with people who were there to experience up to 4 concurrent festive events: Nouvelle France where costumed individuals reenacted stories of the checkered past of the early colonialist days; the strings of white tents sheltering the amazing local artisans boasting jewelry, clothing and sculptures for Plein Arts; Cirque du Soleil's newest show, Ovo, which played under their traditional spiral blue and yellow striped big top that stood out like soft served ice cream treat in its industrial surroundings at one end of the port. But perhaps one of the best events we saw was the Moulin a Images, a commissioned art installation for the 400th Anniversary series of events that will continue to be shown until 2013 with the artist Robert Lepage adapting the show bit by bit each year.

This type of installation, an "architectural projection," used a large expanse of grain silos as its play space for creative and historical images and animations depicting the triumphs and challenges of Quebec over the past 400 years. What made his art installation so amazing was its pure showmanship of talent that captivated everyone who lined up on the pier to see. Each evening after the sun set and the light faded from the sky, images were accurately focused along the industrial park while accompanied by sound and music.

We stayed in Quebec for four days returning to Montreal via a small town called Sherbrook to meet with some friends for lunch followed by a 30 minute drive across the border into my country where the language immediately shifts from French to English. This was the first time I've ever left or entered the U.S. by car. The whole experience was induced by my whim: that we could accomplish something so simple yet novel of my entering Vermont via Canada. Jacques is always reminding me to keep my smart comments to myself when it comes to customs agents, knowing that I have an inexplicable (but always contained) urge to be a smart ass at border control. So I refrained from responding to the agent's query about why we had our luggage if we were just coming for the afternoon, my answers revealing nothing but the facts, sir, just the facts.


The road from the boarder to Stowe Vermont is flanked in the summer with rolling hills, big red barns on cute patches of farm that would induce the frenziest of Norman Rockwell painting frenzies. Also along the drive all day I would see huge black ravens cawing from the roads edge and at times eerily gazing at us. My daydreams brought me to memories of my father, how after watching Newhart each week he dreamed of moving to Vermont and opening up a B &B, and how in the months before he passed away in and out of the hospital with his treatments for cancer, the highway to my home town was flanked with black ravens cawing at me from the roadside: a symbol that I had read about somewhere in some Native American lore that death lingers on the horizon. I glared at these birds in Vermont for being too frivolous with their perceived duty of message bearing and brushed them off, letting them resume their contribution to the beautiful landscape.


In Stowe, a cute little town that hosts sleepy vacationers in the summer and skiers in the winter, we set out to find a place for dinner. The light was changing moods to a mystical peach pre-sunset haze with long shadows reclining along the hillsides. It was suggested to eat at the Trapp Family Lodge, the property being the inspiration for the film The Sound of Music. The food was absolutely delicious, finishing off with a maple cream pie, after all this is the maple region. We had eaten so leisurely that it was already dark when we left the restaurant. I looked up in the sky and gasped "Wow, they have stars here in Vermont."


It took us just over two hours to get back to Jacques' brother's home in Montreal which meant it was past midnight when we arrived and everyone was asleep.



The next day we woke late to an empty house. There was a note from Jacques' brother that their mother had called, his father was in the hospital and had collapsed the evening before during dinner. Whatever plans we had for the day were altered; our priority was to go to the hospital to see how he was.


It seemed that nobody knew for certain what was up, was it his heart or something else? After a menagerie of metro and bus lines we arrived in the hospital then meandered through the labyrinth of hallways from the wrong wing to the correct wing where his father was still waiting to hear the final results from the doctor. There's a hollow coldness in hospitals, concern carved in people's faces in the waiting room, people disconnected and silent while hoping not to hear the worst. In the waiting area I noted a list that stated service charges for non residents of Canada, such as overnight hospital stays, examination fees or x-rays. In a column adjacent it noted which were free for Canadian residents, pretty much all of them. Jacques' father would be covered completely and has supplemental insurance to cover extras that he may want such as a private room versus a shared room in the hospital.

Within an hour the doctor had arrived to give his final assessment and sign for Jacques Sr.'s release. It was only heat stroke induced by a full afternoon of playing golf and his not drinking enough fluids: a potentially serious situation but a relief to all of us as it didn't indicate a chronic nor deteriorating medical condition. His birthday is this week as well. Incidentally we all celebrated on the same day as my dad's. I watched him open up his gifts exhibiting an excited sense of glee when he realized it was exactly what he wanted, an almost childlike charming expression lit up on the face of a man that is now 71 years old.

As I finish this post, we are leaving Montreal, flying home via Toronto where we will again go through customs. I will keep my comments only to the facts, Jacques will negotiate his yearlong visa with business like precision, and we will soon be home again to the cat, my creature comforts of home and soon a full school year with a new crop of amazing brilliant students to teach.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Being Home

I returned back to San Francisco on July 18 but it became evident to me that although I was leaving Indonesia, it was not leaving me. After a 7 hour layover in Tokyo, I boarded my flight bound for home. I slowly filed on, stopping behind passengers awkwardly hoisting bags into the overhead bin and found my seat, right next to a young man from Sumatera, Indonesia.

Jacques collected me from the airport. It was around 11 A.M. on a Saturday and as I was more hungry than tired, we went to Universal Café for brunch, a favorite. While waiting to be seated, I overheard a group of girls speaking Bahasa Indonesia who were also waiting to be seated. It took me a moment to realize that it was out of place: unexpected but through habit and history of the past 10 months it somehow felt normal. Ah Indonesia, there will be no escaping you.

People have asked me over the past two weeks "Have you had any reverse culture shock?" My answer thus far is "not much, really." I've come home to the same apartment, same neighbors, caught up with most of my friends, and am enjoying all the food I've been away from for so long. So in returning, I think I can break down my reintegration process into two parts: "Things I'm grateful for now that I'm back" and "Little things I notice in a different way" as nothing really shocks me here, but there's always something to notice.

Top things that I am grateful for on my return:

  1. Hot showers
  2. Drinkable tap water
  3. Daily conversations with my honey
  4. No power outages
  5. Eves dropping on English conversations
  6. Catching up with friends in person
  7. Brunch!
  8. My favorite coffee shops that I can WALK to
  9. Sidewalks designed for pedestrians
  10. Indian food, Pizza, fresh salads
  11. Conversations with my cat
  12. No ants, rats, mosquitoes (okay I lied, I was bit by a mosquito yesterday..)
  13. No mosques waking me early in the morning
  14. Yoga classes, the swimming pool and a full gym
  15. Fast internet

Things I notice in a new way (AKA things I'd forgotten about):

  1. Gratuitous complaining by westerners ( which I'm realizing is a way people tend to bond -- through misery)
  2. Being woken early in the morning by my cat demanding food
  3. Cold foggy summer weather
  4. Young teenage couples embracing on the escalator in the BART station (something I've forgotten was so normal here)
  5. The price for eating lunch out
  6. Political clipboard holders on practically every corner asking for donations
  7. Impatience of my fellow westerners (in lines –queues, traffic lights, crowds, internet speed)
  8. Junk mail

And the greatest culture shock of all in coming home: The budget crisis and how it is affecting education, jobs, our parks, the already sparse and dwindling social services.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Ubud in July

Despite having higher prices than I am accustomed to for Indonesia, Ubud is a gorgeous and wonderful place and this is why I booked a one full week of yoga and other yummy goodness here for my final memories of Indonesia. It is also a great place to meet other travelers, an easy place to be a solo traveler so I've never felt lonely and on the flip side, I've had plenty of opportunity to have my privacy and spend time alone: Perfect balance. I've had a full belly the whole time I've been here in Ubud. It's been a source of comfort to me. I am still homesick and I still wish to return home soon but knowing that I am in just a couple of days, I'm releasing to the daily sensations as best as I can. Living in the present moment is not easy, especially as I don't want to fall into complacency nor lose my insight into possibilities.

I booked this trip over a month ago, having already settled my departure date from Indonesia with the ELF program but before knowing whether or not I was going to visit Thailand. I remember the night I clicked those few icons that appeared on the screen of my laptop confirming my registration. It was a hot evening in Banjarmasin, sticky and sweaty. I was hearing the rats play in the kitchen and was thankful that the power had come back on. Feeling a need for escape, I found Balispirit while googling "Yoga Barn" "Ubud" and "retreat." It was the best thing I could have done for myself: A weeklong package including my simple bungalow room, clean and with hot water and a handful of meals at my favorite Ubud restaurant called KAFE. I was given a class pass for 12 yoga or meditation classes of my choice, 2 private yoga lessons with this wonderful teacher named Jane and I added on a bike tour through the rice paddies with Bike Baik.

It was on this spectacular bike tour that I met Katherine and her 7 year old son Tané. Katherine and Tané are from Ireland, Tané is half Maori (New Zealand) and his name means "man." We instantly clicked as a small traveling group, enjoying our bike ride together, Katherine offering her back pack as a place for me to keep my camera and water bottle. Tané has a gentle curiosity about him intermixed with 7 year old boy energy. He rode ahead a lot, took a spill on a tight turn in the road and bounced up like he was a rubber ball, hopping back on to lead the troupe onward. He was always ready with very insightful questions about Indonesia and America, wondering how far things were, how long plane rides were and comparing my answers to his more recent experiences of flying first to Jakarta then traveling across Java with his mother.

The day after the bike tour, Katherine and Tané were planning to see Ketut of the Eat, Pray, Love fame. They invited me to join so tagged along. "Sure, why not?" I was curious myself after having read the book last summer, a gift given to my from my Indonesian American friend, Nani. If you are reading this Nani, yes, I finally went to see Ketut! I passed on the reading however, still feeling satiated from my Dukun experience two months ago in Solo, feeling like I can read myself so much more clearly now. But it was still a fun adventure. We trekked to his family compound both of us worried that maybe he has big neon signs pointing the way but it's still an old hanging sign from the same main road my guest house is on.

We entered his compound and he was in the middle of a reading with some other westerners so we waited patiently for about a half an hour. Tané kept saying he hoped Ketut would tell them that he'd have a brother or sister. In the little courtyard there were two people measuring the buildings and pathways and jotting down dimensions on paper. I told Katherine that I had heard recently they were planning a film based on the book wondering to myself if these people were involved with this somehow. As it turns out, they were measuring the compound and taking photos to send to the studio in New York that will be producing the film. They told me that they will actually film some in this courtyard. I asked if Ketut would play himself, they said they didn't think so.

Ketut's 10 year old granddaughter, an amazing little saleswoman, came out to greet us while we were waiting. She had a small portfolio of Ketut's drawings of a traditional Balinese nature with the creation scene with Brahma and some other scenes. She also had a folder with some of her own done with pastels. They (meaning hers) were amazing, whimsical, colorful AND irresistible so I bought one without bargaining or batting an eye. Somehow I just couldn't tell her "mahal sekali." I'm not disappointed with my purchase in the least. It was inspiring that a 10 year old can sell her artwork with so much charm while insisting that her grandfather's paintings contained magic but that her own did not. I beg to differ. I'm certain my drawing from her has some secret power even if just in its beauty. After we talked with her a bit about her drawings, her learning English both in school and from her grandfather the conversation came to a close, we wished her well and she said "okay see you later alligator." We all said in unison "after awhile crocodile."

Katherine got her reading while I talked with a young Dutch couple who arrived, also waiting for Ketut, the young woman having also read what was being referred to in this courtyard as "the book." One of the 'surveyors' stated to me that if I got a reading from Ketut, he would tell me that I'd live until I was ninety five, get married twice have 2-3 kids…. Katherine pretty much confirmed that came out of her reading BUT that she will live to be over 100. Tané was excited to learn that he will have a couple of brothers or sisters, his mother laughing at the thought. I was excited to learn that Tané has a lotus symbol on his back as part of his positive energy. Yeah, I can see that…

I said hello (and goodbye) to Ketut as we were leaving. He asked where I was from, I told him in my best Bahasa that I had been living in Kalimantan. He asked what I was doing there and I told him. He smiled at me with a big half toothed grin and then looked over my shoulder scanning the crowd of Japanese tourists and the Dutch couple who had gathered, waiting for his healing/reading services.



Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Chiang Mai to Krabi and Stuck in KL

Chiang Mai

The remaining days in Chiang Mai ended up with rain and gloomy skies. That was fine for the spa day but I was suspicious about the day we had set aside for the zip line adventure through the jungle. Feeling a need to relax a bit more, I decided to sleep in, read, hang out with the resident Tri Gong dog named money (who I found out is pregnant!) and was glad for the break. When Susannah, Katie and Ellen returned (and returned early at that) they were soaked to the bone remarking that it would have been more fun if it would have stopped raining.


From Chiang Mai we flew down to Krabi in the south. This area is known for beaches, boat rides, kayaking and slightly less developed than Phuket but in reality, it had everything we could have wanted and much we didn't want. It looked oddly familiar, a lot similar Indonesia but much more developed than Banjarmasin. The waterfront was lined with small shops selling everything from cheap souvenirs to floaty things you can bring in the water and restaurants boasting menus of western and Thai food. And of course it wouldn't be a complete tourist destination without the obligatory Starbucks and McDonalds. A big surprise was the amount of custom tailor shops where from their stoops and bordering sidewalks every evening we'd hear "Hello Madam, would you like some beautiful clothes?"


It was the off season, so there were more vendors out than tourists. It's the trade off, not much competition for beach space nor crowded activities, but it also means the vendors were like hungry tigers pouncing on all who walked by. We went out on one of the big snorkel dive boats, being low season, I had the dive master all to myself and the entry off the big boat deck was not a big stressful crowded even with divers bumping off one another. My unexpected stress during my dive was entirely unrelated.

I was very excited to dive, neither nervous nor anxious beforehand. However, within minutes of going down I felt a well of panic, something I hadn't felt since I received my certification years ago. I felt claustrophobic, my throat went dry from the air and although there were no problems with my regulator, I started to feel like I couldn't breathe very well. I told my guide, Punch who was amazing, that I wanted to go up, so we did and I started feeling better as soon as my head was out of the water. We gave it a second try after at minute and again I was fine at first but the panic crept in. We weren't even more than 14 meters deep! This first dive before lunch, I don't think we were down more than 25 minutes total. Again, Punch was fantastic, making sure I was okay and letting me try to figure out why I was feeling so panicked and claustrophobic. I thought maybe it was because I was using their gauges because my computer was on the fritz, or maybe I didn't drink enough water beforehand and was just a little dehydrated, also the visibility was low and everything was so blue, maybe that was disorienting. But it wasn't until the second dive that I figured out the crux of the problem, a problem opposite of many divers: water temperature.

The water was 30 Celsius. Although I wore only my spandex skin, no wet suit, I overheated as soon as I submerged. I always run warm in the water. In Monterey where my dive buddies need to return due to getting too cold to fast, I'm happy as a seal. I like the warm water diving too, but rarely need to wear a wet suit. At Phi Phi, it was just that degree too much for my body to feel comfortable. I was able to stay down the full hour on the second dive. It helped that there were thermo clines we swam through that refreshed me, and that there was an AMAZING sea turtle that swam right by us that the boat's videographer caught on film. But the feeling of warm water fully covering me felt unbearable at times that I had to stop Punch during the swim so that I could just breathe slowly to cool down.

My last full day in Krabi was spent with the ladies kayaking along the big cliffs of the area and through a mangrove swamp. Maquaq monkeys came out to stare at us and fell in love with a couple from Wales partly because they spotted a bag of "crisps" in the kayak. One monkey jumped on the front of the boat and rode with them for a while, staring intently, waiting for another round of food to appear.

Delayed 6 Hours in KL

As I hammer out these notes of my last week in Thailand, I'm sitting in the Kuala Lumpur Airport waiting for my delayed flight back to Indonesia to announce that it will be boarding… hopefully sometime today. I had higher expectations of the KL airport. The whole experience has been like being in a barn; in fact it looks like a barn. Its expansive, harried and not much rhyme or reason to the shuttling of debarking passengers through the process of going through customs (even for transiting passengers like myself) to claiming baggage, to checking in again, leaving the country through immigration (yes I have a Malaysia stamp in my passport now) AND then to heading towards the gates. Passengers zig zagged and cris crossed through the terminal, all of us travelers with dazed, annoyed looks on our faces as our transitioning from one point to the next lacked intuition to the point of prompting frustrated travelers to stop in their tracks directly in front of others, unaware that over stacked luggage carts were careening directly towards them from just feet away.

Finally in Bali

After a 6 hour delay where the flight scheduled after my own left 3 hours before I did, I made it to Ubud, by 1 AM. It was quite the experience. Tired parents let their children run amok, Air Asia didn't have enough meals for everyone to purchase and didn't think to offer anything for free, not even a bottle of water. In the vein of trying to stay positive and hopeful in my final days in Indonesia, I am closing this post. Home is just a short few days away and I've still plenty of interesting tales to share.