Making Hand Painted Cards on a Rainy day

So dreary and rainy for the past few days.... Here's a project that brightened my spirits:



You can read about it on my art blog at www.emerlyearts.blogspot.com.

URI Art Competition

I have decided to enter the University of Rhode Island annual competition for art based on ocean themes. I already have two black & whites completed and am starting on a third one. Each one will be 6x8 inches and will include an original and inverted version. I have to hustle, though, as I need to do about a half dozen more before the end of this month! That would be an amazing feat but I will try. My new quotation card will have to be put on hold for a while - but I'll get back to it.

You can see the line drawing, my two previous drawings, and follow my progress on my art blog here: www.emerlyearts.blogspot.com

Mud Season

I sit in my upstairs office-studio and look out at the stream next to my house rushing and roaring with melting snow water. The snow is finally disappearing from my yard, leaving winter's trash (fallen branches, scraps of paper, old bottles...) marooned on the still-brown grass. I always wonder how that stuff gets there. Do visitors toss their empty bottles in the snow to have them immediately gobbled up by a white maw? In any case, the first task of Spring is always to clean up yard trash - like cleaning up after a party or a parade. Perhaps Winter wishes to remind us that it is an event.

This is the most difficult season for me in Vermont. I would love to be elsewhere from mid February, when the novelty of snow and ice have worn off, until May first, when the snow is gone and the yard and garden are calling me out to play. One always feels ambitious in the Spring and a garden provides plenty of work for the imagination and muscles. I am particularly thankful that this year I will have the strength to be gardening again, though I am woefully out of shape.

Changing the name of this blog

Since I want to open a blog for my coaching business, and also to renew this blog for personal issues (stuff about my life,) I am thinking of renaming this blog. "Seeing the dream we walk" is something I talk about in coaching and dreamwalking, so I'm thinking it may belong more to that world.

For this blog I've been considering calling it "The Cyn Chronicles" or "Chronicles of Cyn." I know. Its punny and I'm not usually a punny girl but... its in me. What do you think??

Coming back to blog writing

Spring is here and the juices are flowing. After suspending this blog for a while, I will be writing again. I am putting renewed effort into my coaching practice, after a full year off for recovery. I want to re-work my website and the way I approach coaching, so I will be fiddling for a while.

I will have one blog for personal postings, to which only my friends and family are invited. (This blog will morph into that.)

I will keep my art blog (www.EmerlyeArts.blogspot.com) because I need a showcase for my new art.

And I will be starting a new blog to complement my coaching website, a place to talk about that work. I haven't established it yet but that should happen in the next month sometime.

So... here we go again!

Featured in "Chic Geek"

Today a gal named Delia notified me that tomorrow she is featuring some of my kirigami work in her blogozine article about Valentine's Day. Please check it out tomorrow. I will be interested to see what is there.
Here's what she wrote:

Hi! My name is Delia from Market[Store(Shoppe)]. I write the bi-weekly style column, Chic Geek, for the blogozine Fierce and Nerdy at www.fierceandnerdy.com. I have featured one of your Etsy items with a link to your store in my column about Valentine's Day this week! It runs tomorrow, Wednesday the 28th of Jan at 10am PST. I'm writing to let you know I adore your store and to encourage you to send the link to your email lists, post to myspace, facebook, etc. tomorrow in order generate more hits and sales for everyone featured. When properly advertised, I've been known to crash the magazine's site because of so many hits!

Valentines

I've been experimenting with cutting bifold kirigami Valentines. You can see them on my art blog. They look gorgeous hanging in a window and are a lasting emblem of love and friendship. I will be putting one up in my Etsy shop for sale each day this week.

Getting Back to Color

Today I went to AVA gallery in Lebanon, NH to see the large showing of Trina Schart Hyman's oil paintings. She was a celebrated local artist, best known for her illustrated children's books such as St.George and the Dragon, Little Red Riding Hood, etc. Unfortunately, she died of cancer four years ago and I never got to know her. The show was amazing. I had no idea she worked in oils so extensively. I was inspired.
Today I finished a new black and white ink painting (I am trying to complete a series) but now I want to get back to color. So much work to do and so little time.

"Comfrey"

Work

I am in a conundrum. Being an artist is hard work. There are so many tedious, time consuming tasks to do besides simply making the art. Formatting, record keeping, matting and framing, marketing, listing... I wish I had a partner who could do all that and I could simply concentrate on creating new work.

I took a break from coaching (involuntarily) after my operation because I thought creating art would be more suited to my indolent recovery lifestyle. That was true and not true. I have been constantly busy, yet it is easy to see how an artist can starve. Though more fulfilling, the artist's life is not as lucrative as coaching, at least not in the beginning. A lot has to do with networking, which I'm bad at.

OI! As I was writing this, I received a phone call from the local librarian asking me to be the featured speaker at next month's library guest program. She wants me to show and talk about my art.
Serendipity abounds.

War's End

I've been using a war analogy for illness the past week as I slog through this awful cold that's gripped me. I'm in a strange, transitional place, mentally, as I pull out of the worst of it, rejoicing that the tide has turned yet still weak and weary. My voice is coming back. Sinuses are drying up and my throat doesn't hurt any more. Morning coughing fits subside after only an hour. I am over the worst of it. My head is still in a fog.

What comes to mind are those haunting black and white images of ragtag Civil War soldiers walking home through torn villages in the early morning fog, trudging for days toward the comfort of their families.

I know. This is melodramatic. I only had a very bad cold.
But drama is so much more fun.

Turning the Corner

My voice isn't back yet but I slept again last night and do feel a bit better.
This might sound silly but I really think that going on a Miss Marple marathon last night has helped me. After watching six episodes in a row of Miss Marple Mysteries from BBC's A&E collection, I thoroughly imbibed her persona. Since then, I find myself walking around the house with a straight back and my nose in the air, feeling indominable. This nasty little virus can't stand up to this little old lady.

Entangled Hearts

Ring of Angels

Voiceless

Its interesting how viruses take their course through the body. They have recognizable patterns, provoking symptoms according to some pre-designed strategy. I just watched Braveheart again and I am visualizing the king watching the battle from the hill, commanding first the archers, then the infantry, then the heavy horse, etc. The enemy virus attacking me now went for the throat first, then the nose, then the sinuses and ears, then the chest, and now the vocal chords. My voice was getting husky yesterday as my chest filled up. By this morning I could only croak out a rasping whisper. Its not so bad, though, because nobody is here and the necessity to communicate is absent. My mother called a few minutes ago and was alarmed at how I sounded, but really, I sound like the Godfather.

Things are only bleak on the surface. My side is winning, I'm sure of it.
I actually slept last night.
It won't be long before I break out of the dungeon into the land of the living. Maybe I should paint half of my face blue.

"Unicorns" a 10x10 inch hand cut kirigami mandala.

I had intended to start painting by now but I'm still too sick. Last night I sat and cut this kirigami while watching a Miss Marple mystery. It took me all evening to do. Hard to concentrate on intricate work. I just hate sitting around, doing nothing.

Sick

I wonder where the expression, "Sick as a dog" came from, as dogs rarely get sick and when they do, they mostly lie quietly in a corner without much complaining. That has not been my behavior for the past week. For five days I dragged my sorry carcass around the house, wincing and moaning, coughing, sneezing, grunting and whining, wishing someone would rescue me from my misery. Finally, yesterday I succumbed to inertia and fell into bed for most of the day.

I am so rarely sick. (Of course, I've had the big stuff, like Lyme disease, pneumonia, and cancer....) I just don't pick up on the little things very much, or else I power through them so fast I don't really notice. The last time I had the flu was at least a decade ago -- I can't even remember. My last bad cold was about five years ago. Occasionally a stomach thing grips me for a day and I make friends with the bathroom. That's about it.

Of course, I am overweight, and that's not good.

This past year (2008) was a low point for me, health wise. I hardly even noticed the tumor growing in me -- not too many symptoms. The remedy was a bitch, though. I think the operation and recovery took something essential out of me. I have been struggling to get back to normal ever since. And now this. I've caught a doosey of a cold. I think it was a Christmas gift from Warren, who coughed and sneezed his way through the holiday with us. Three days later I got a wicked sore throat and limped along for a couple of days. But for the past three nights things have devolved into misery. Hopefully the tide will turn soon. I don't think I can take another night without sleep, sucking on cough lozenges, propped up on four pillows, popping sinus headache medicine and trying not to cough.

Whine whine whine. The voice of reason in my head knows that this will pass soon enough, as all things do, and I am being a baby. It reminds me of how it used to be, not so many years ago, when people were genuinely afraid of getting so sick. Every family had its deaths from childbirth, influenza, pneumonia, and childhood diseases. Really, I am so lucky and this temporary discomfort is but a small wrinkle in the whole cloth of modern life.

Hmm. Maybe instead of feeling so sorry for myself I should reframe this situation as an opportunity to rest and reflect upon my life's path.
If I could put two thoughts together that is.

New Year's Eve

I didn't get much sleep last night. The cat is in heat and skulks around the house all night yowling. She makes love to bath towels, paper, my bedclothes... anything. She stands at the door wailing to go out and find some action. She pushes her nose against the window screeching, "Let me out. Let me at him!" (It reminds me of how Spock goes crazy when the Vulcan urge to mate comes upon him.) Finally, Rachael, who is here for school break, got up in the night and shut kitty away in the bunk room so she could get some sleep. Big mistake: the cat tore everything up and yowled even louder. Oi.

Rachael just left to begin her New Year's Eve festivities. I will be staying home, as usual. Partying isn't my thing. Josh asked me if I am going to run around the house barefooted like we used to when the kids were teenagers. No way. That kind of craziness isn't fun when one is alone. Once in a while I go outside at midnight and howl at the moon barefooted but that's it. No drinking. No carousing.

Instead, I intend to curl up by the fire and spend the day sorting out my life and planning for next year. I'm a bit tired anyways. Lacking sleep because of cat mysery, I am also tired from all the housekeeping I did yesterday. I tidied for six hours, put Christmas things away, vacuumed, got groceries, cleaned out the fridge, washed clothes, picked things up and put them away... generally brought order to holiday chaos. Neither Rachael nor Adam could understand how it was possible for me to clean for six hours and not even get to the upstairs. Yeah. That's the point. Maybe if they saw the mess, they would offer to help tidy it up.

On the work front, right now I'm winding down my seasonal kirigami papercutting. (By the way, a recent mandala of mine has been included in an Etsy Treasury: http://www.etsy.com/treasury_list.php?room_id=30005 ) I will probably cut several more large framed mandalas for the Stowe Coffee Shop, make some valentine cuttings, then put it all away until next year in favor of painting and wearables. I haven't been sewing much this year and people are clamoring for my hats and jackets. I'm not sure if I am going to continue that line of work, though. It's not portable, very labor intensive and difficult to market.

I also want to get back to coaching and teaching. That whole part of my life was suspended during my recovery. It was simpler and more restful to spend my time creating art. But now the tide is turning again and I must decide which way to sail. Its time to think through this coming year's goals and intentions. I need a way to pare down the multitude of disparate things I'm into and Focus, Cynthia. Focus.


To all of you who read these musings, may your future be peaceful, joyful, and bright.
Happy New Year!

2008 Family Photo

Hello all,
We took several family photos at Christmas this year. Because of the large group, most had someone with eyes closed, silly face, looking the other way, etc. But here are two that look pretty good. I have photoshopped them to take out the very messy, distracting background.

Left to right you will see...
Above: Alan, Melissa, Gwenny, Ben, Rachael, Simon Josh, Adam
Below: Heather, Warren, Cynthia, Madeleine



Happy New Year!

Stowe Coffee Shop

Yesterday I drove up to Stowe, Vermont, to deliver two dozen hanging snowflakes and four framed kirigami mandalas to the little Stowe Coffee Shop. The owner, Heidi, was so cordial and enthusiastic about hanging my work in her shop. She found me on Etsy, as did four of the other shops I hang my work in. Snowflakes will make the perfect decor for winter in a ski town. She is also going to reserve a month in 2009 for my other artwork. (Many of the cafes and restaurants around here show local artists on a rotating basis, like little galleries.) I may return to Stowe in a week or two to see how my work looks in the coffee shop. If so, I will take photos for you.

A curious thing happened to me in Stowe. Since I was an hour early for my appointment with Heidi, I decided to walk around the village for a while, poking into shops and galleries. What I found was a town bursting with a vibrant collection of art and craft -- and not kitchy, cutesy craft, but elegant, fine work of all types. I was enthralled, inspired, and a little discouraged. Woodstock is so dead compared to Stowe. (Woodstock is a beautiful town, elegantly laid out with fine houses, a few boutiques, and two museums. Stowe is a jumbled mismatch of streets and shops of all kinds, much more touristy, more cacophonous, yet more alive.) I kept feeling that I am somehow asleep where I live. Stowe is more like the place I should be trying to place my work. Yet my work, at least my kirigami, feels dwarfed and inconsequential among the elegance I found there. I don't want my work to be simply a seasonal amusement, which is what my snowflakes probably are. Somehow I forgot that amidst all the notice I've received this winter. It felt discouraging and deflating to realize that yesterday.
Yet again I play small.

Well, the season is nearly over anyways. The next few days will be filled with Christmas sewing for me. I will cut about a dozen more large mandalas to frame and then put it away until next year. I am anxious to get back to my regular artwork. Black and white florals and, most of all, color illustration. Color. My life needs more color.

My Hero

It has been Ferrrrrrrreeeeeezzin' outside for the past few days. After the ice storm the weather has remained cold, turning our world into a winter wonderland (or winter nightmare, depending on your point of view.) Adam came by after the storm and tried to snowblow the driveway. This is he blowing what looks like snow but it is really hard packed, icy snow. You can see the ice on the trees. Poor guy was shaking and shivering out there for an hour.
Yesterday it warmed up enough for the snow to turn to drizzle. Now it is cold again and the rain has frozen into a two inch sheet of ice over everything. The driveway is literally a skating rink! I watched Adam slide all the way from the front door to his truck at the bottom of the drive. (He couldn't make it up.)

My hero came back this afternoon and threw sand over the driveway so I wouldn't slide into the fence as I try to back out. What a guy.

Mouse CSI

When I said we didn't have mice this year I spoke too soon. The little sound-emitting device I bought to annoy away critters seems to have worked well -- but can't guarantee that no desperate, homeless mice won't find their way in and think my pantry is a good place to crash.

You read about my recent "mouse down the shirt" episode, yes? (If not, see past post.) Well, in the past two days Juno the kitty has earned her keep by catching two more mice. Clearly they were the derelict homeless who came in from the ice storm and didn't know their way around a human dwelling because I saw each of them running across the floor, one in the living room and the other in the den right under my feet. No savvy house mouse would be so brazen with a cat around. Poor naiive little bastards.

Kitty is becoming a pro. Clearly all her practice batting the stuffed squirrel around has honed her techniques. Sitting placidly on my lap while I watched a video and cut snowflakes last night, something rustled under the couch and she leaped into action. The clueless mouse ran right out into the open, circled the coffee table, then ran down the middle of the floor toward the kitchen. The chase was on. Cat and mouse tore around the kitchen until Juno scooped Mousy into her jaws and brought it to me. She gently set it down on the rug only to chase it around as it fled for its life, emitting little terrified squeeks. Catch and release was the game for about fifteen minutes before Juno pranced out of the room triumphantly with the mouse dangling from her jaws.

This morning, while getting ready to take a warm bath, I encountered the crime scene in the bathtub. Two mice lay dead, both curled into little balls, by the drain. Evidence was everywhere. Cat footprints around the tub and spatters of mouse blood against the porcelain walls. A tiny blood smear ran from the side wall to one of the mice. Although it is clear who the killer is, I wondered how the events unfolded. Were the victims killed in the tub, the smears evidence of a death struggle? Or were they killed elsewhere and their bodies dumped there? Clearly the perpetrator wanted to be caught or she wouldn't have disposed of her victims in the very place she watches me bathe. Was this another one of her sick presents to me?

Whooooooo are you? Who who who who? I really wanna know...

Ice Storm Creations

There was a big ice storm here in Vermont today. My electricity was out for sixteen hours. Thank goodness for my new wood stove! Because I couldn't go anywhere or do anything that required power, kitty and I sat by the fire most of the day and cut paper. (The cat sprawled luxuriously, as only cats can do, close to the stove and snored.) I cut more kirigami mandalas than I ever have before in one sitting. Now my hands are aching but the result is lovely. Here are a couple of them:

Five Golden Rings


Mermaids

You can see more of today's storm babies on my art blog, www.EmerlyeArts.blogspot.com. I will have some of them listed in my Etsy shop soon.

Snowflake Party

Well, my annual Snowflake Party -- such a lovely holiday event -- has come and gone. This year a dozen people came during the day, bringing food and cheer. Not as many of the 50 invited guests show up as in the past. Nevertheless, we had so much fun.

Unfortunately, while I remembered to take some photos before the party started, I totally forgot to take any during! So you will have to imagine these rooms filled with chattering, laughing ladies (and two men) eating, drinking hot wassail, cutting snowflakes at the table, and choosing holiday presents to buy from the Itty Bitty Art show in the living room.
Thanks to all of you who came this year.

A Shocking Experience

If you ask me what I did yesterday, I could say, "Oh, not much. I just electrocuted myself."

I am in the process of making a little art gallery in my living room. Last year I put up some track lighting, which I wanted more of. More light is better, no? Everything was purchased, opened, and laid out for installation. The metal ladder was in place and I was ready to push the connector into the old panel. Holding the ceiling with my right hand to steady myself and the connector with my left hand, I pushed it into the track. Suddenly I felt a cool, menthol wave flow rapidly through my body from my fingertips, down my left arm, through my heart, and down the left side of my body to my foot. It was strong enough to hold me, frozen, to the light as a river of pain pumped through me."Oh my God," I thought, "I am being electrocuted." Then "Oh Crap! I forgot to unplug the track before pushing the connector in. I've just made myself the second light!"

Time really did slow down and I had dozens of clear, complex thoughts in the few seconds it took before the weight of my falling body pulled me away from the connection. I felt the surge go through my heart and I remembered Ben telling me that most of the people who die from electrocution do so because the current interrupts their heart rythm and it stops. I thought of my kids and the mess I was leaving them with. Got to get my papers and stuff in order. I thought how ironic it was that I was just getting better from my cancer ordeal and then I go and kill myself. Many more things went through my mind. Strangely there was no fear of death, just regret about leaving.

I didn't lose consciousness completely and managed to stumble off the ladder and plop to the floor, shaking. My left thumb and forefinger throbbed with an internal burning feeling. My left foot felt like someone had pressed a hot coin to my heel. I was feeling shaky and jazzed, as if my hair were standing on end. Mostly I focussed on my heart, hoping that it was OK. (I have had irregular heartbeat problems in the past and occasionally take medication for it.) Whew! What a rush!

Interestingly, a friend was due to visit for tea in a few moments and it happened to be Anne, who was electrocuted last year by a downed power line and miraculously survived. When she showed up, I could discuss what happened with her and she pointed out what was familiar. She then did some energy work on me, which helped a lot. (She is a body worker.)

Adam came by later and poo-poo'd the whole thing, telling me he's had worse shocks with a welding machine and that it wouldn't have killed me (so quit whining) unless I had a pacemaker or something. Adam is never the right person to be with if you want to milk an experience for drama or sympathy.

Here's this from FirstAid.com:
Because people make excellent conductors, minor electrocution is a common household hazard. Fortunately it is usually more surprising than dangerous and does not require medical attention. However, some basic precautions should be taken to insure that the shock does not interfere with the body's normal electrical impulses including the functions of the brain and the heart. Prolonged exposure to a direct source of electricity can also cause severe burns to the skin and the tissue.


It took several hours last night for the feeling of dizzy shakiness to go away. The left side of my head throbbed for a while, then slowly released. Today I feel pretty normal, except my fingers still hurt. Strangely, my heart feels better than ever.

A Flurry of Snowflakes

Today I hung two dozen snowflakes at Shiretown Books in Woodstock VT. It wasn't enough. I plan on bringing them another dozen tomorrow. Now my snowflakes (called kirigami mandalas) are in three shops in Vermont, two in California, and one in Washington State. This is the most I've ever cut in one season. I've decorated my living room with them in preparation for this Sunday's Snowflake Party. Now I have to hang more in the kitchen and the windows.

I am excited about my Snowflake Party. Although we've been cutting snowflakes for decades, I've been holding parties only since we've lived in Vermont -- about 18 years! A snowflake-cutting party is the perfect way to launch winter. I hope attendance is good this year. So many people get busy running around during the holidays and don't take time to enjoy the season.

If you are still pondering whether to come... COME! It will be a blast. The wood stove will make the living room toasty. You can look at this year's handiwork at my Itty Bitty Art Show. There will be hot wassail drink, holiday music (before we all get sick of it,) goodies to munch on, and the pleasure of chatting with friends while cutting paper into mysterious chapes which, when opened, always surprise.

Great Blue Heron

Yesterday afternoon as I was sitting at my desk, I saw out of the corner of my eye something large fly past the window. To my amazement it was the Great Blue Heron that frequents my pond in the summer. What in the world is it doing here at this time of year? And why is it standing in the stream by the house? I have never seen it close to the house before.

I ran for my camera and shot several photos, watching it walk up and down in the stream in front of me. Oh dear, the pond is probably freezing over and its looking for fish. Is it really the same heron? Is it lost? Shouldn't it have migrated somewhere warm by now?

I have noticed for the past year that many of my familiar birds are either missing or here at the wrong time. Have we messed up the weather so much that they are confused and dying off?

While I loved seeing this elegant creature on my doorstep -- perhaps sending me a message -- I feel distressed about these questions. I wonder what it is doing today and where it nests in the icy cold.
Dear Heron, your beauty inspired me! Here is the 8x8 inch hanging kirigami mandala I cut for my beautiful bird. For sale here on Etsy.

Happy Thanksgiving Chaos

Whew! Its taken me two days to recover from our amazingly abundant Thanksgiving gathering. It was a wonderful, happy, huge feast with all sixteen of us here this year. Every family brought something special, including Mother Nature, who gave us snow and ice.

It was a great migration. Nana Mack and Morry traveled up from Rhode Island. Josh came from San Francisco, by way of Switzerland, where he and Heather had just returned from visiting Papa Bump. Rachael drove up from Centenary College in new Jersey. Warren and Bruce came from Boston. Amanda, Dan, Ben, Melissa and the munchkins came from Burlington. Heather and Alan came from Ferrisburg, VT. Papa Bump phoned from Switzerland.

We probably had more food this year than ever, despite difficult economic times. It was traditional fare: Turkey with stuffing and gravy, ham, mashed potatoes, squash, green beans, peas, stuffed celery, cranberry sauce, olives, carrots, rolls, sparkling cider... and for dessert Amanda's amazing baklava, pumpkin pie, berry pie, apple pie, fudge, cake, cookies and ice cream.

Nana Mack and I remarked several times how poignant it is that one works for a week to prepare... food, housecleaning, beds, arrangements, etc. The morning of the feast is controlled chaos, resembling a military campaign with precise strategy, timing, and troop movements. When all is ready, the house looks and smells delicious, then ... swoosh. It is over in an hour. It takes another whole day to clean it all up. That seems to be the pattern for all wonderful events. The celebration itself hangs like a small, glittering jewel in a forest of work.

Here, take a look:

The table before the hoard descends. We had to add an extension this year.

Nana Mack carves the turkey, which was so moist it fell apart. She gave me lots of tips for how to make things better next time. At least I got the turkey in the oven early enough. A couple of years ago I miscalculated and we were all waiting and starving for hours while it cooked. A few people remark on that little debacle each year.Amanda & Dan waiting for their potatoes to cook. They made an enormous bowl of herb mashed potatoes and it was gone gone gone by the end of the day.Josh and Gwenny reading together. Gwen loves to read. The first thing she said when she came in the door was "What can I color?" The next thing was "Where are some books?" We got out the little box of books I keep for kiddies to play with. Many shelves of picture books are available too, for careful children and adults. Here she is "reading" Papa Bump's small book of poetry.Simon in his mothers arms. He had a tough day. Teething is hard work. Thankfully he took a nap during dinner.Football for the guys.Josh plays cards with the Macks. Ben brought "Rock Band" for us to play but we never got around to it. That was probably best. Tranquil games are better for all the digesting we were doing.A few chess games by the fire. Adam was recalling the chess competition when he beat Howard Dean's son. I remembered that event as fun for kids and boring as dirt for the parents. I did chat with our then governor for a minute. Nice guy. Too bad he lost the election.A portrait of Warren the filmmaker

Nothing of me. I was too busy to think of assigning camera duty to someone. Josh took lots of pix. Maybe I am in one of them. In any case, picture me commanding the troops, then resting my aching legs by the fire, enjoying the company of all my darlings. What a satisfying day it was.


P.S. The following is a beautiful article published in the NY Times which perfectly captures my sentiments about our Thanksgiving feast.

No Chefs in My Kitchen

By MARCELLA HAZAN

Published: November 29, 2008
The New York Times

"MY husband is such a great chef," my hairdresser was saying.

"Oh," I said. "What restaurant does he work in?"

"No, no, no, he doesn't work in a restaurant. He is an electrician. But he does amazing things on the grill when we cook out during the weekend."

This happens a lot. "Chef" has pretty much replaced "gourmet cook" to describe anyone who cooks well. How many times over the last few days, for instance, did you hear it used to refer to the person who prepared a Thanksgiving meal?

I must confess that the growing use of the word bothers me.

For starters, "chef" is a job description — a chef is someone who cooks professionally, usually in command of a restaurant's kitchen brigade, and depending on the brigade's size, he or she might not even be doing any of the actual cooking.

But I'm troubled by the word for another reason, one that goes beyond the precision of language and gets to the heart of how we experience food.

When my family and I ate out in the Italy of my youth and early decades of my marriage, we would look for any plain trattoria where we could find the kind of cooking that was closest to what my mother and father were putting on the table at home. The person making the meal may have been the owner or his wife or his mother, or someone working in total anonymity. He or she was never referred to as the chef, but as il cuoco or la cuoca, the cook.

This was the old world of Mediterranean family cooking, a world where satisfying flavors had been arrived at over time and by consensus. That world hasn't disappeared, but it has receded, making room for a parallel world, one where food is often entertainment, spectacle, news, fashion, science, a world in which surprise — whether it's on the plate or beyond it — is vital. This is the world of chefs.

I have known, and collaborated with, quite a few chefs. I don't in the least begrudge them their laurels. Theirs is a life of sacrifice, and the fame they achieve comes with a price. It is no fault of theirs that we have chosen to fall to our knees before their work, revering it as the highest standard by which culinary accomplishment is to be measured. But this focus on chefs runs the risk of leaving us disoriented. What matters about food is what happens when we put it into our mouths. A caring family cook is just as capable as a skilled chef at turning that first bite into a blissful moment.

The food Americans eat that is made fresh at home by someone who is close to them is shrinking compared with food consumed at restaurants or prepared outside. And while eating out or taking in may save us time or bring us enjoyment, I would argue that it deprives us of something important.

I am my family's cook. It is the food prepared and shared at home that, for more than 50 years, has provided a solid center for our lives. In the context of the values that cement human relations, the clamor of restaurants and the facelessness of takeout are no match for what the well-laid family table has to offer. A restaurant will never strengthen familial bonds.

Which is why, as we come together over the holidays, we should take a moment to think about how we might become cooks again. We could even begin, in these financially straitened times, by replacing store-bought presents with meals cooked at home.

After all, what experience of food can compare with eating something good made by someone you can hug? Like other forms of human affection, cooking delivers its truest and most enduring gifts when it is savored in intimacy — prepared not by a chef but by a cook and with love.

Marcella Hazan is the author, most recently, of "Amarcord: Marcella Remembers."

Snow for Thanksgiving

Brrr. I just went out to my car and slipped on the ice! Didn't fall down, though. Here's a view from my window. The wet, heavy snow came down all day yesterday and has now turned solid.














The cat had the right idea.
Now to clean house and cook. The hoards start arriving later today.

Wood Stove Debacle

Just when I thought I'd gotten the hang of the thing....

Wet, heavy snow has been coming down all morning. Adam came by with his brandy new snowblower to do my driveway and found it was more difficult than he thought trying to push slop around. After a half hour of wrestling the thing up and down the driveway through slush, he took a break and brought up a wheelbarrow-full of wood from the barn. As he resumed his drudgery, I decided to carry the wood into the house. My wood stove had gone out, so I put some paper in with a few sticks, then went to get more wood. Fifteen minutes of work cleaning up the woodshed later, I decided to take a break and have a morning drink. Why are my eyes burning? I wondered. Hmmmm. I followed my nose into the living room and Whoa! White smoke was pouring out of the top of the stove! I had forgotten to open the flu and close the cover when I put in the kindling. What an idiot. Tomorrow all my guests arrive, I have a ton of work to do and now the house smells like wood ash.

I waved my hands wildly, trying to somehow shoo the smoke away. All that did was send me into a fit of coughing. Well, that was stupid. Finally, I opened the front door and all the windows, brought out the fans and began blowing air outside. After a half hour the living room was pretty clear of visible smoke but it still smelled. And now the house was freezing cold. This lends new meaning to Heating the Outdoors.

Hopefully, the smell will dissipate by tomorrow. My eyes aren't burning anymore so that's good.
Oi.


Here's my newest 10x10 inch hand cut kirigami mandala.

Brrrrrr. Anticipating a Snowy Thanksgiving

The wood stove has been warming up the place for the past couple of days. It has been ferrrreeezing outside. I have photos of myself and the kids at several previous Thanksgivings in nothing but sweaters and smiles. Does it seem to you that this year is unusually cold? It has dipped into the 20's a lot this week. A dusting of snow has been on the ground for several days. It is expected to snow again tomorrow and the little stream by my studio window is icing up.

My bear self is rapidly taking over. I yawn a lot, am excessively tired, and want to eat and sleep more. Hibernation time. Like the cat, I curled up next to the wood stove yesterday afternoon for a nap, something I rarely do. Hmmmm. Warmth. An unexpected side effect of getting the wood stove is that I don't want to venture out any more. Saves on gas, though.

Well, got to get hustling. There is lots of cleaning to do, beds to prepare, food to inventory and buy, and cooking to begin. (I got a jump on things last night and painted my nails. ) Thanksgiving is only three days away.

I sure am glad to be alive this year.

Visiting Mom

I have been away visiting my mother for a while. Kind of an ad-hoc visit. Always great to see one's mommy, even when one's own hair is gray.


"Sitting Fairies," 10x10 inch hand cut kirigami mandala. See more at my art blog.

Mustaches for Kids

Hello all,
My son Josh (you know, the one who wrote that great tribute to Mom) has been competing in "Mustaches for Kids" for three years now. It is an organization in San Francisco where guys grow mustaches, get sponsors, and compete to earn money for various kid causes. I just watched his YouTube video introducing this year's project and I laughed my head off. Take a look:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4e4USLsRyJs

If you are interested in following this or donating, see this page: http://www.donorschoose.org/donors/viewChallenge.html?id=19596

You can read all about it, see all the videos, and see Josh's stachce grow on his blog here:
http://walkslow.wordpress.com/

Pass it on if you wish.

Happy day,
Cynthia

"Kick It"

Yikes! I'm so woefully behind on hip vocabulary these days. I just called my paper distributor to make sure they have what I need when I travel 2 hours down there tomorrow. The young man on the phone laid phrases on me so obscure that I had to squint my eyes and look up in order to decipher his meaning. When we finished our little conversation with me satisfied that my trip won't be in vain, I said "Thanks. Goodbye." and he said...
"Kick It."

Whoa. Dude.

Update a few days later: When I drove down to Woburn to pick up my paper and envelopes I saw the guy I talked to on the phone. As soon as I walked in, he said, "I have your envelopes ready." I was surprised. He said he saw my Vermont liscence plate and knew who it was. I asked him about Kick It and how I feel like an out of touch dweeb and we had a good laugh together. When my business was done and he carried my boxes out to the car, he said, "Well, goodbye now." and I said "Kick it!" He gave me the thumbs up and called me a cool mama.

Yeah. That's what I'm talking about.