It's A Jungle Out There

Here's me doing my best impression of a Bavarian Bar Maid bringing out the baked goods which I obviously enjoy quite a lot myself. The problem with me being the weight I am, besides the chafing thighs, the extra perspiration, and the constantly aching feet is that my head never gains weight. So the effect we see here is the pin head look that is really only popular in caricature drawings. I need bigger hair. Should I rat it out? Should I grow it out first and then get a perm? What about a bee-hive?

It has long been my ambition to master the art of tart baking. Although I think pie is wonderful, I prefer tarts. I'm not a francophile which is one of those facts I like to inform people of pretty soon after meeting in addition to clearing the air on the question of swinging and sexual orientation. I don't think that all things French are superior. In fact, I think it would be hard to worship a culture in which snails were considered a delicacy any more than I could worship my own culture which considers high fructose corn syrup to be indispensable. I don't actually worship any culture specifically. Instead I like to pick and choose from all the cultures in the world the ideas, sartorial, and food traditions that best suit my personal tastes.

Except for Gaultier's work I think French fashion is awful. People are always talking about French women like they have style pulsing in their veins instead of blood. What rubbish! When I was in Paris several years ago, what I observed was a lot of tight jeans, spiky heals, fur coats, and stupid hair. As surprising as it may seem, I much prefer American fashion. Although it is distressing how much Americans treasure their track suits and ho-wear. American fashion such as Donna Karan and Calvin Klein is clean and fluid and unfussy.

What I love from the French culture is it's appreciation for shopping in open markets, for tarts, for simple soups, and it's countryside food which I have only encountered in books and in the brasseries in Paris. Tarts have charmed me. I make a pretty good tart. I want to someday make such a good tart that I leave people dreaming of them. I want to make such a good tart that when you're eating it you are taken to the fields where the fruit in them grew, or to the orchards. I want to make them so delicious you feel as though you're sitting in the apple tree that the apples came from, feeling the bark of the branches against your skin, enjoying the shade from the hot September sun of harvest time.

There are wonderful things developing in my garden between the six foot weeds. This is a bread seed poppy from which you harvest poppy seeds for baking. I am falling for poppies this year and hope to have many more varieties growing in my garden next year. As always, the most charming plants to me are the ones who are not only beautiful but are functional as well. The fact that this one produces good seeds for eating makes it particularly shiny.

Eggplant blossoms are succulent and dangerous. The have spines on them that jab the unwary. The flowers themselves are velvety and robust. I love the way they look hanging like lanterns in the undercarriage of the eggplant foliage.

Here's the jungle in all it's glory. It doesn't look too bad from a distance or under the microscope. The truth can only be seen in the middle distance. I do not have time yet to hack away at the choking weeds. They are prolific. I have a city of them. Huge. They don't get this big and lush in California. I try not to worry about it. I am still in transition. I haven't got my studio space even started on its transformation and I have things that must come before the weeds. What can you do? I'm not trying to win a garden contest. I would never win, even if I was out there every day. I know who I am as a gardener and it's not the kind you will ever find in the pages of a magazine.

My sister turned 32 years old in Ghana Africa the day before yesterday. We've been thinking about her a lot. It's strange to think of her being so far away from us. Beyond mailing distance because she tells us it's incredibly slow to get there and she'll be gone before any mail could arrive. She has no phone there either. She's doing social work for her summer vacation. Never before have I known my sister less or loved her more. She's an amazing person full of surprising strengths and interesting quirks. I always think I see inside her heart and spirit but on her birthday as I was thinking about her, and yesterday while my mom and I were talking about her, I opened my mind to the possibility that I don't really know her at all. Maybe I should let her tell me who she is.

It's hard to do that in families. To let your family members tell their own story and to let them evolve outside of your own sphere. It's difficult to do with people you've known your whole life. I watched my sister's baby head crowning on the night she was born in parent's bedroom when I was five and a half years old. I saw her come into the world and lived with her until she was ten years old which is when our parents split up and she went with dad and I went with mom. Still, it's easy to think I know all the important things there are to know about her.

I'm thinking about this now because my sister's birthday is much more meaningful to me than the fourth of July which we spent happily cooking food and drinking with friends. I don't object to Americans celebrating their independence, I don't object to setting aside a day for chest thumping and mindless happy patriotism expressed in the act of making colorful loud explosions that sound like cannons and rifles going off all night long. (Although I DO OBJECT to the fireworks. Along with not playing games, not liking parties-especially children's birthday parties, I hate fireworks and Max has just found out and may never respect me again.)

For me, The Fourth Of July is always bittersweet. I found myself thinking about how meaningful our own liberation is to us, but how our country is oppressing others at the same time, feeling righteous about it. I can't celebrate that. I can't separate the idea of our liberation from our invasion of other countries because for me they exist on the same latitude. So I would rather think about my sister out there in the world trying to make a difference in individuals' lives and trying to find her passion. Trying to find her satisfaction, her calling, and happiness.

Little Sister-I can't wait to hear all your stories! Happy belated birthday! I hope you have good adventures this summer and when you come home to roost for a few minutes I will ply you with good food while you tell me what Africa was like for you. I love you!