Many Things That Are Squishy And Plush And Brightly Colored, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:34am


Oh my gosh you guys I apologize but I am going to have to clarify my post from yesterday. I cringe because if I don’t watch out this is going to turn into a blog about blogging about blogs and I Do. Not. Want. That.

At all.

So I need to say I will still post about style things if I wake up on Saturday morning and think about style. For example, “Hmm, I want to tell the crew about my new sofa pillows!” Or say I’m heading out the door during the week and think, “Hey, this outfit works, I’ll share it with everyone on Saturday.” It’s just that the photos are more likely to be iPhone captures, and the links less abundant and unmonetized.

OK. Enough and more about that. Because I woke up this morning and wanted to show you my new sofa pillows.

They are exuberant. (I tried that sentence in all caps, with an exclamation marks, but one can evolve so far and only so far from ones roots.)

This you may remember is what my sofas look like, along with a cognac-colored pouf and the Persian rug I’ve had since 1981.

I thought I’d get winter pillows (because I’ve decided that I am the sort of woman who decorates for the seasons albeit not with wreaths or banners) and I thought they’d be brown. But the nation does not seem to support interesting deeply textured brown sofa accoutrements, at least not right now.

That my friends is why my winter decor now features blue, reddish pink, pinkish red, and purple velvet sofa pillows. They match my rug which is truly odd for me, but the red glittered Christmas trees from Target add a little anarchy. As will guests, I’m hoping.

(This one was supposed to be bright pink but it’s faded and I don’t care! I like it better!) Just in time for Christmas. The squishy Santas, who say “Ho ho ho!” when you squeeze their stomachs, approve. Unclear what the protagonist in Lily Stockman’s painting, “Her Favorite Time Of Day,” might think.

They (the pillow not the Santas) are from Horchow. Remember that catalogue? I’m going to say they haven’t thrown in the towel. Let’s hear it for growing with the times.

Have an excellent weekend everyone, exuberant if that’s how you’re feeling, and deeply, deeply peaceful if not.

How I Dress Up Now That I Am Over 50 (Actually 60)


August 2017. Our 4th anniversary at Boulevard, in San Francisco. “Muse” dress by Miranda Bennett via Garmentory. Shoes: Valentino Tangos ||Tights: Wolford || earrings: Vicente Agore

I thought I’d conclude 5 years of monetized style blogging with a post crammed full of shiny stuff. Game?

Let’s dress up!

The point of fancy is

  1. to feel spectacular
  2. to look your best in accordance with both your persona and the occasion
  3. to feel spectacular

How to do this in one’s later years? Advanced Style is an option for some, but Sturdy Gals don’t do outrageous, we have our ways.

Color, silhouette, fabric, those are my chosen tools. Oh, not to forget makeup brushes and white eyeshadow.

The photo above illustrates our principles. I found this blue silk noile dress is at a wonderful online resource called Garmentory. (Go to Grechen’s site and use her link for a $20 credit.) See, were I not easily bored I could wear blue every day of my life. It’s my color. This shade is a little brighter than I’d usually choose, but the intensity works for dress up.

Side benefit, my comfort in the color allows me to wear an Artsy silhouette unembarrassed, which in turn allows me to eat without discomfort. Booyah!

I added large earrings, because simple and architectural. A small two-solitaire diamond pendant because sentiment, but also to highlight my décolletage and its bony structure. We are our own accessories. And, to tone this down a bit, for San Francisco restaurant culture, I wore black tights and shoes. In retrospect, I needed sheerer tights – the shoes looked better than you can tell from this photo. (I also might yet trim off the low part of the high-low hem, or when the fashion for raw edges passes, hem the sleeves.)

But I hope to wear this dress many times over many years – full on fancy or date night, either way.

How to find your similar dress-up outfit, should you be so inclined

  1. What’s your single best color? What do you wear to a constant chorus of, “Wow you look great!”
  2. What skin do you like to show? Collarbone? Ankles? Back?
  3. With these principles in mind, lurk. Check out places like Yoox and Farfetch for unusual pieces. Install Shopstyle on your phone and while away your standing-in-line time hunting for the perfect dress. You will find her.
  4. Choose shoes that play up your color strategy
  5. Wear statement jewelry but not too much
  6. Use makeup to highlight the structure of your features.

Dresses In Knockout Colors, In A Range Of Prices

A Portfolio Of Shoes To Dress It Up Further

If we ever did go to a gala, or the opera, I could have worn my cobalt blue dress with these navy crystal-embellished satin slingback Manolos. Added red-gold jewelry for a little contrast or amethyst for complement.

Again, color. Don’t match, we’re not Little Edie Beale Bridesmaids. Aim for contrast, i.e. purple with your orange dress, and/or complement, i.e. pink with red or navy with cobalt.

Even Grande Dames approve, whether Mano-lo or Mano-no. Sorry. Couldn’t help it.

Lightweight Earrings From My Old Friends At Blue Nile

If you’re a big necklace person, I am useless to you. My apologies. But I can help with any heavy earring problems. Although Blue Nile may skinny down their earrings to reduce costs/prices, our earlobes are grateful. (Selected pieces 25% off)

 

  1. Gold quadrangles
  2. Pearl drops (25% off with code BRIGHT17)
  3. Diamond bars

Or these, if you tolerate the metal, in silver for less. Silly to spend money just to spend money.

Date Night Makeup

To set expectations, I’m talking date night in San Francisco, an Artsy town whose citizens on any given night show up in zero makeup, full face socialite, or full face tattoo. So, date night makeup for a no-makeup look. I’m making myself laugh, but it’s true.

In essence, I intensify the process that I reviewed in my previous video by adding shadow and light. Here’s my little kit.

(Speaking of videos, I tried to respond to Kathy’s request for a second one on makeup.) But the only space I have for such a thing is my bathroom, where the light made me look like, again, Little Edie Beale. When I reviewed the video, my voiced “Yes!’ (in approval of my fuchsia lips) brought to mind a demented woman displaying Christmas decorations made of rolls of paper towels and spiderwebs.)

Date Night Makeup Technique

  1. Focus on your skin; exfoliate,  moisturize, plump it up with hyaluronic acid. Use the foundation and concealer that work for you, spend some time blending.
  2. Stick with tried and true shades – I tried to wear products called “Redwood” or “Apricot” for years. When I was young I could just manage. Now I stick to “Rose” or “Pink Pearl.”
  3. Intensify your look with shadow and light: black and white; gray and pale gray; or brown and vanilla. I rarely wear eyeshadow these days. Oh, I try, but I always wind up having to clean it all off. How then to do nighttime eyes?
    1. Cover eyelid with a skin color shade (not the color of your eyelids per se, the color of your face)
    2. Line eyes from middle of eye to outer corner, using a very soft pencil. Smudge the line a lot with a brush. (I cannot tightline it makes me gag)
    3. Curl your eyelashes. Yes, it really does make a difference.
    4. Use a white-for-you shadow (cream, light tan, pearl white, ivory) shadow, with a pony tail brush, to emphasize the shape of your eyes. For me this means a dab right above my pupils, one on each lower outer right corner below the lash line, and one on the upper inner corner aligned with the top of the iris. This opens my eyes quite round. Your eye shape is different, your highlighting will be different. Experiment.
  4. Find good brushes and tools.
  5. Use a hair highlighter for sheen.

Old Favorites And Tempting Possibilities

A Few More Recent & More Casual & Less Colorful Going Out Looks

Just in case you’re shaking your head and saying, “If it ain’t neutrals I’m not playing.” For my birthday, in the ladies’ room at the Four Seasons Palo Alto. Vintage Issey Miyake top, Vince trousers, J. Crew patent leather loafers.

And for Thanksgiving. A vintage Chanel jacket from the 1990s, diamond studs, doubling down on the Vince trousers, and Marant Dickers from way back here.

And, why not, from days past. Thanksgiving 2015, a holiday party and sequins on New Year’s Eve, and a 60th birthday bathroom selfie. As Garth says, “Party on.”

Links may generate commissions. And so in a semi-epic ends my spate of monetized fashion-blogging, at least for now. Saturday posts will continue, and will often include style thoughts, but, no new dollar-generated links. I’m not editing older posts to remove them though. Thank you for your support these past years.

 

A Little Moment Of It’s Not That Bad, Or, Saturday Morning at 7:56am


 

Come December my back yard used to disappoint my living room. If I snuggled up to nandina I could find a little berry cheer but my beloved now-departed elm tree blocked much of the view from indoors. Even with the leaves had fallen, what I could see through bare branches was often splotched with elm detritus I couldn’t be bothered to remove.

Nothing stirred or salved my soul.

Now the elm is gone I can see autumn itself. Which, contrary to popular belief, does come to Northern California. Our temperatures get cold enough to flip the chlorophyll switches – it’s just that our low-water ecosystems require either leathered leaves too tough for anything so fun as reddening, or big fast-growers that fall off early in the season.

Riparian trees, however, those that grow along creeks and rivers, will turn red and yellow. Maple, elder, alder, birch. Non-native trees we plant near lawns, like my dogwoods, they turn too.

All of which is to say it was a dark day when my old elm fell but some light came later. I even get to watch the leaves fall, plonk, swish, plonk, they are the butterflies of now.

Today I felt like a little It’s Not That Bad, state of the state and all. Perhaps you did too; my garden rallied round. Have a bright weekend. Lights are going up in my neighborhood, the need for twinkle transcends political differences.

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Leave The Leaves Alone, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:46am


I hope all of you who celebrate had a good Thanksgiving.

It was just me and my husband this year. So we walked to a local restaurant, arm in arm, dressed up. I even wore boots. Big fancy.

We were seated in the backroom, where harvest gold tablecloths reminded me of Thanksgiving with my grandmother at the Longmeadow country club. Inauspicious.

But the food was surprisingly, extraordinarily, good. Like when you turn the corner on a boring walk to a valley view. They even let me substitute creme brulée for pumpkin pie. Applause.

And then we walked home. We’d done the same thing last year. Arm in arm down quiet streets, past yellow leaves on sidewalks that had been there all day. Nobody bothering nothing. Quiet where you’re used to bustle and noise is my version of church.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone. My daughter is home, she is sitting on the sofa as I write. So I’m topped up with happy stuff and I hope you are too.

A Good Week Of Retirement, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:50am


Prepare to have the socks bored right off your feet. Lately I’ve been considering the idea of a Good Week.

As someone who is wired by goals and plans and achievement, as I’ve said before, retirement poses a conundrum. Very little of what I do is big enough to need my full machine. Revving up just to, say, take used hangers to the dry cleaners/return library books/get to a yoga class generates enough adrenaline to negate the yoga.

Seems dumb. Retirement is a privilege. I want to organize my time so that at the end of a week I can look back and say, “That was a Good Week.” I need that sense of pride in accomplishment. I mean, I work on the zen and all that but the neural paths of 61 years do not surrender overnight.

So here’s what constitutes a Good Week, for me. It’s too hard to cram my scale of need to accomplish into one day but a week I can do.

A Good Week Of Retirement

First I had to understand my priorities. Old habits just don’t die.

  1. Anything important that my kids need (note, requests for new skin cream or Danko clogs fun though they are qualify as recreation and therefore cannot be allowed to bump other stuff further down the list)
  2. Taking care of my husband – dinners, errands, driving, life
  3. Time-critical administrative stuff like our bills, house repairs, Mom’s bills, Mom’s income, etc.
  4. Saturday blog post
  5. Amusing myself with social media, television and books, staring out the windows  (I wish I needed this less but if I’m honest, and ranking things by the role they play in my life, this is the truth)
  6. My own health
    1. Weight management (decades of practice, ingrained)
    2. Saturated fat minimization (new, wow I miss carnitas)
    3. Sugar moderation (fine, fine, fine)
    4. Alcohol moderation (ongoing project, lifelong, I imagine)
    5. Vegetable and fruit maximization (all the crunching, so tiring!)
    6. Exercise/movement, yoga, walking, gardening, or very active house cleaning, 5-6 days/week (trying to increase this by putting a treadmill in the garage)
    7. Physical therapy for an old twisted hip, sustained while giving birth to my son (new effort, quite revealing, amazing what we store in our hips)
  7. Trying not to exit this world without having completed a substantive creative effort, AKA long form writing (crosses fingers, pleads with the evil eye to move on, promises to be good)
  8. Contributing to social welfare (school volunteering)
  9. Keeping house and home from falling through the cracks –  gardening, cleaning, clearing out closets, painting bookcases (yes, I finally finished the bookcase and will eventually tell the story which is a good one about laughing when things turn out kind of ugly and maybe also about creating, not sure yet)

You smart people will notice I am pretty far down on my own list. That is OK. To a point, I nurture myself by caring for others, I am not in the least selfless. I do have to watch I don’t take it too far.

To keep track of these earth-shattering thoughts, I use yellow lined pads – listing the week’s to-do candidates in categories at the top, a plan to implement day-by-day below. At the moment, categories are as follows. I will spare you my day-to-day – suffice it to say I crossed off  ‘get in touch with the roofer” last week.

  • Home (currently needing a new rubber thingie for the drain in the kitchen sink the name of which I do not know)
  • Mom
  • Treadmill (I find I hate neighborhood walks these days before I get so bored, if this is to happen I have to elevate a task to the level of a category, because, next I have to CLEAN BOXES OUT OF THE GARAGE AAAARGH)
  • Garden (currently coveting a coffeeberry for the back yard and scarlet penstemon for the front)
  • Blog (hello!, waves at you guys)
  • Long Form (oh man the outlining! The research!)
  • School (this is my volunteering, cut back to one day a week to try and make space for above Long Form)
  • Yoga (Ha! The only to-do is to remind myself to go twice a week. But I think the irony of yoga on a to-do list pretty much says it all)
  • Health (To-dos here have been doctor appointments, catching up on all I let slip while focused on Mom’s health, catching up to being 61. And yes, I am losing some hearing in my left ear. On the other hand, eating less meat does lower cholesterol. You lose some, you win some.)

So inelegant, but every time I aim for elegance I throw it out.

All well and good. And then, recently, I had two epiphanies. One must always number list one’s epiphanies, ain’t that right?

  1. From a phone call with my best friend who lives in New Jersey, I need to plan an entire day each week without a single to-do. Not to say I will in fact do nothing, but for my adrenaline levels, I need essentially to fake a weekend experience, to allow myself to absolutely as I please for 12 hours. I suppose I am faking a workweek the rest of the time.
  2. This, while making the bed, some days will be bad no matter how well I have conceptualized and implemented my week’s plan. The world is in a tough spot right now. I am not able to go about my privileged life without fear for those at risk. Also, being alive is vast and body chemistry is what it is.

When I cross off all the things on my list I get the Good Week thrill. I love it. Then I tear off that piece of paper and rewrite. Seems picayune, but we are who we are and best to just get on with it.

There.

I am sorry for having bored you, I hope you can retrieve your socks from wherever they have flown to, fuzzy sock ears covered. Materfamilias has a much lovelier version of taking stock, here. I tend to use the feeling in my gut as my stock-taker, and right now it’s good.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone. Life is a gift. A sense of humor on the other hand, the secret weapon.

 

 

Piece By Piece, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:03am


You may remember a while back I started repurposing my kids’ spaces. My son’s room became my “workroom” (in quotation marks because in fact I just keep stuff there and cart it out to my sofa for actual working); my daughter’s room became the guest room.

However, that was 2015, and in January of 2016 we began the process of moving my mother to memory care. My time and intent disappeared into the subsequent chaos. Now, with chaos at bay and the end of 2017 approaching, I’m slowly, slowly finishing up. Guest room, meet your chaise longue. I don’t expect much lounging, but the long chair makes great clothing storage for those who don’t fully unpack.

Once I regained mental capacity for things like furniture, I kept imagining dark teal upholstery, to complement the red and gold bedding. So when I discovered Interior Define on Emily Henderson’s blog and looked over their selections, I ordered excitedly. The modern flat upholstery contrasts with the old-style turned legs in a way I just love. (BTW, Emily did a chaise roundup this week, you can find it here.)

That throw is a silk shaw that belonged to my father’s mother. You will also see the bedside table we found on eBay to pair with the one from my mother’s mother. Yes, both grandmothers represented.

However, all this progress has confirmed my suspicions. This room does not get enough light to allow the Merida rug to shine, literally or figuratively. The relative darkness draws me to rich colors and fabrics, which aren’t working perfectly with the Merida’s low white weave. I love a clean look in our master bedroom, with its private double height windows and southern light. Not here, so much.

So I’m going to keep layering for lushness. Maybe a sheared sheepskin to go next to the bed? Invest in curtains and shades, maybe long and white and linen-ish with red trim? Too much? Add more metals? I don’t know. I’m thinking and open to suggestion.

Most of all I need art. Those walls cry out.

Luckily, I know a lot of artists and am discovering more. I have Laura’s photo in the workroom, Lily’s painting in the living room, Gitta’s photograph in the master bedroom. I wanted to buy one of Cara’s paintings but it sold too fast. I’m loving Kathy’s new still lifes. And now I’d like to introduce you to Ian Gallagher. Ian is my son’s boyfriend, but even without connection I’d find his work brilliant. For example, these animations. And, the paintings.

That’s the post card invitation to a Brooklyn group show he’s in. Opened last night. I highly recommend you stop by if you can. I keep wondering, as I do with talented people, how they manage to accomplish two seemingly contradictory things at once. How is that family above both so celebratory and so horrifying? I can’t look away.

I probably wouldn’t hang it in my guest room – I think it’s meant to be surrounded by brave conversation, in a dining room. But Ian’s got other works. I’m waiting patiently to be allowed to buy one maybe.

So have a wonderful weekend everyone. Layered or full of art.

Contains no affiliate links. Older posts are still monetized, new ones not. Please join me in supporting other bloggers who do monetize with integrity and value to their readership, it’s a big ol’ bucket of work. 

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Even California Decorates For The Seasons, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:22am


I woke up early this morning, as usual. Today was darker than yesterday. Not just the infinitesimal shortening of winter daylight – our rain has arrived.

The San Francisco Bay Area has a “summer dry” climate. Everything browns from June to October. Sometimes we have long, long droughts, but in a normal year, rain falls off and on from December through April. This is our winter, our green time.

So in California, we grow and cocoon at the same time. Huh. I think that’s something I will need to consider, now that I’ve said it. It’s like we run to ground in our houses, but the natural world flourishes on its own. Or something? Who knows?

In any case, my seasonal decor revolves around sofas. Come winter, I change out the throw blankets, from sky blue to tobacco. And I think about changing out the pillow covers, from Marimekko blue and green to something brown and smokey.

This morning, when I woke up in the dark, I remembered I hadn’t picked up yesterday’s mail. Our mail slot opens into our garage, no mailbox in the snow, just a tiptoe across an oil-stained cement floor, California rain splattering the shake roof.

There I found the Samuel Scheuer catalog. Do you remember, they sponsored a giveaway for us last year? The holiday hand towels? I’ll be bringing mine out in December, I imagine. For now,  look at those baby alpaca throw blankets up top. All the colors of all the seasons. For your winter, red? Must be what, six different shades? (I know, expensive. We can just look.)

Or these pillows, woven linen from Libeco? I’d have to see them in real life; it’s all about texture.

California’s version of holiday tartan, I suppose. If cold places wrap up in green and red, reminders of berries and dark leaves under the snow, maybe we do earth tones. Burn sweetgrass candles, remember sun on the hills, thank every spirit we can for the rain.

I like to think about furnishing my house for winter, about wrapping up in blankets and napkins and tablecloths, even if just imaginarily on a rainy morning. Imaginarily, is that a word?

Have a wonderful weekend.

There are no affiliate links here. I no longer monetize. I urge you to support those who do so with integrity and a clear view of their readers’ needs, it’s a big ol’ bushel of work.

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Big Chicken, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:41am


I cannot write long non-fiction to save my life. Like gluing beads on fabric, too many small but important things to track. My fingers get in the way.

Fortunately for the world, others pick up that slack. For example, Maryn McKenna has published a new book. Big Chicken. The title!

Maryn has commented here, she and I have met a couple of times. She’s elegant and smart and direct. Also the kind of writer who provokes an involuntary response, “Woman knows what she is doing.”

In any case, Big Chicken tells the story of how modern agriculture came to rely on antibiotics to supply us with animal protein. I am only on the second chapter and I’ve already been completely surprised. Did you think antibiotics were used to prevent animal disease? Me too. Were we right? Well, I’m going to do that annoying tease thing and not tell you. Because as you will have guessed, I want you to buy the book. It’s a engaging read. Now, or for upcoming gifts, either way.

I hope you buy it in part because Maryn is my friend and she writes so well. But also because I think the book matters, especially now. Maryn sheds light on how corporations and regulations work; she illuminates the role that science and scientists can and must play in our well-being; she reminds us about cruelty, health, and our diet.

Embarrassing personal confession to follow. We’re among friends. As one who not only can’t write long fiction, but also, I admit with some shame, rarely reads it, I’m surprised by how much of an impact a book like this can have on our worldview. A good non-fiction narrative isn’t just a way to consume a bunch of facts. You can inherit fully fledged insight from someone with expertise. Can you recommend a non-fiction book you’ve loved lately?

Finally, you intelligent and logical people might have wondered why I’m writing this post from the second chapter of the book. Good question! Maryn’s on a tour, and this Monday, October 30th, at 6pm, she will be at Book Passage in the Ferry Building. I am thinking someone out there might be able to attend.

I’ve got a bad cold, which sadly means I can go only if I’m better because a) I don’t feel well b) I’m coughing so much I would annoy the bejeezus out of anyone also attending. But Monday morning, if you’re thinking of going, email me at skyepeale at yahoo dot com, or say hi on Twitter, and if I’m suitable for the world let’s meet up. Or, go, and remain anonymous. I would never enforce friendship.

Have a good weekend everyone. Perhaps I mean, a good weekend narrative?

Comfort Or The Fight, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:06am


I have a weekend full of children to enjoy. A friend of mine in London just gave birth, and I am encouraging her to distribute lots of “baby spam.” Today I’m going to the 4th birthday of two cute twins I met in their first week of life and have celebrated ever since. It’s possible one of my own children might stop by later.

Motherhood works for me. Sometimes I’d like to mother an entire town. Or at least a neighborhood.

I wonder, what would it be like to live in a matriarchy? A society in which the skills of mothering – not the actual requirement to be a mother (of course) – were the most valued? Comforting, scaffolding, the whole gamut of Looking Out For. Do you ever think about that?

I suppose for now we largely believe as we did in early days – the fight matters most. Many societies still believe that if we don’t fight, we don’t live. And while that’s probably true, I don’t think it’s the most important truth today.

Ah well. Off to buy birthday presents. I’ve always been a last minuter – at least I’ve learned not to try and wrap presents in the trunk of my car. That was chaotic, a strategy for the young and relatively foolish.

Have a great weekend. Maybe today we celebrate the mothering skill of of patting someone on the back, held to our shoulder in a dark night room, or under our shoulder, standing at a field of play.

Invisible Smoke, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:29am


It’s a full 80 minutes drive from my house to the southernmost tip of fires now burning in the Wine Country.

And yet yesterday morning I woke up with a nose bleed. Today again. Our air smells of smoke, is full of tiny invisible particulate, and alternates between Unhealthy and Unhealthy for Select Groups on the Air Quality Index. We bought a new air filter and are staying inside but will want to buy masks if we go out.

I tell you these details of little consequence, in the scheme of things, simply to give you a small and maybe more vivid impression of the Wine Country fires in Napa, Sonoma, and Lake County. By the numbers, >5000 structures have burned, >30 people are dead and many more still missing. 340 acres of elegant houses, mobile home parks, agricultural and commercial buildings in ashes.

If we look out further, to Houston’s flooding, Puerto Rico’s hurricane or Mexico’s earthquake, we might feel a larger compassion but also maybe some overwhelm. Natural disasters aren’t new, but in the last century we humans have built more buildings, used up more space and needed more water. Social media and news technology means we now see and hear more details of suffering, we also see how important it is to be able to work as a community.

In 2017 we are both more dominant and more connected, and I don’t think we’ve yet figured out this stage of our civilization.

What’s a Sturdy Gal to do? Focus on that which is in her control and gives her hope.

  • First, she blows her nose and drinks more water.
  • Second, deprived of the Northern Californian’s usual access to the out-of-doors, she vows to dust, vacuum and mop her house. For exercise as well as cleanliness.
  • Third, she donates to Direct Relief, a Santa Barbara charity that passes >99% of donations on to end recipients, rather than paying much to staff. You can even specify the geography you want to support. (She also marvels at the work of firefighters on the front lines and officials managing evacuations. All the planning, the systems, the bravery, the experience.)
  • Fourth, she recommits to volunteering. At the Swing Left site, in the classroom next week. Those of you with different politics than mine must have your own activities in support of a just, effective and compassionate society, do those things.
  • Fifth, she thinks about driving to the coast tomorrow if the air is bad again. Looks like the ocean is still vast and alive enough to bring us clean breath at its edge.

I considered gratitude as an approach, but in times like this gratitude rubs against guilt. Sturdy Gals don’t do rose-colored glasses well, we are better off with a brisk, “Well, this isn’t good, but let’s get going.” I considered dreams of elsewhere too, an escape to Hawaii, but, well, you guys wouldn’t fly away either.

Have a good weekend. Do what you can. share what you’ve got, drink a lot of water. For water I do feel gratitude.

 

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