And here we are.

old dishes that belonged to my mom

I'm well. Are you well?
I'm not really okay, though. I suppose you're not either.

I have candy dishes now. And I walk by and eat a piece 10 million times a day.
I hope my teeth don't fall out. How are your teeth?

French peach cake from Joy of Cooking

I bake things. I could bake ten million things and eat them all.

New shelf/bench in my dining room

This is my addition to my dining room. I frequently have 10 million guests at my 10 million dinner parties. So now there's extra seating.

This is orizomegami--the Japanese art of dying paper.

I have 10 million sheets of paper in this condo--handmade, dyed, marbled--suminagshi and Turkish. I think in another life I was a wasp and made my house out of paper.

What were you in your other life?

Inside Out/Outside In...AND some writing news

OUTSIDE IN

On Tuesday night I saw "A Breath for George," shown outside on a tiny screen against the wall of the Guthrie Theater. It could have been shown on a grain of rice and would have still packed a punch. We said in the sanitized chairs provided, masked and socially distanced, some of us in lawn chairs carried from home-- a crowd, undistracted by birds, or motorcycles, or the voices of children somewhere in the park behind us. Only the helicopter flying too low pulled our eyes from the screen. I don't know if these showings will be only in the Twin Cities or if they will come somewhere near you, but the website of the theater that produced the movie is a must see. It is full of resources you might not have seen other places.

http://newdawntheatre.org/index.html

There's a mural of George Floyd on the front of the Guthrie, composed of little post-it note like squares. 

INSIDE OUT

It's amazing how much the sky can change in an hour. Nature shows us change every season, every hour, every second. We can change too.

This is the view I see from my bedroom floor--the place where I do my yoga practice.

WRITING NEWS

An essay of mine (along with 29 others) is on the shortlist for the Masters Review Anthology. I should know by the end of the month if I get chosen as one of the ten winners.

I'm just sitting here watching the houseplants grow

the dining room group

Many loved ones stand on the front lines of Covid-19 and racial justice.
I sit at my desk next to these plants and make things-- Monetary contributions to organizations that I believe will change this f-ed up world; making zines, origami boxes, small handwritten books, hand bound journals, protest posters that will probably not go out into the street.

masu boxes with lids made of hand-marbled paper

While I completely understand that I don't know how to draw, I still like doing it. Go figure.  This is a slipcase for a collection of zines.

coptic binding in progress

I'm growing things on the balcony that I rarely used last year. This year it's an oasis (relative term) despite the noise from the a.c. units next door.

First tomato (and maybe jalapeños too) are on the way

So, the houseplants are doing fine. And for those of you who might wonder, I'm not actually drinking myself to death during quarantine. I know. I'm surprised too.

How are your houseplants (dogs, cats, kids, parents, hamsters, chickens) doing? How are you?

The River

Dan Paik left this world six years ago today. 

He has not visited me in any dreams recently, but he and my mom are always with me. In the past several months my mom has had cameo roles in many dreams. 

It just so happens that this essay was published by a wonderful journal last week.

https://underthesunonline.com/wordpress/2020/the-river/