Friends, Meet Buster

Friends, this is Buster Brown, the beagle (mix).  He belongs to my dear friend Lori who, in addition to being brilliant and hilarious, is also one of the best schoolteachers I’ve ever had.  (Sophomore English at C. K. McClatchy High.)

Now that Lori and I live in the same city again, we get to do fun things like team up in caring for Mister Buster.  Who is a special little guy, and needs a Lot of caring.

When Lori adopted him a few months ago, she quickly realized that the boy’s endured some serious trauma, gets spooked pretty easy, and may occasionally lash out in fear.  The first time I met him, things seemed to be going just swell, feeding him treats and cuddling on the couch, until I got too close and he suddenly bit me on the lip.  (I know, tough to imagine a sweet-looking mug like that biting you in the face.)

And so, in the same vein as Heather the cat, though far friendlier to humans, Buster is one of those animal companions whose affection is not guaranteed.  (To anyone but Lori, that is.) We continue loving him anyway, though, because who says love is a perfect give-and-take?  Buster may have his challenging quirks, like anxiety around changes in atmospheric pressure, but he also has many precious ones, like the morningtime phenomenon Lori has dubbed “squishy ears.”

As poor Tamagotchi performance long ago established, I’m not a naturally maternal person in the least, and it ain’t easy for me to look after a creature — especially one without language.  (No reasoning with BB when he’s feeling too skittish to take a walk; sometimes all you can do is pick him up and kinda scoot him forward toward the stairs.  This clashes somewhat with my sensibilities around consent.)

But I will say this: relations with Buster calm down to the extent that I can calm down.  When I stop worrying about whether he’s scared, or upset, or Not Being A Model Dog, and just accept the vicissitudes of his moods, doing what I can to offer him a good environment, then we get along just fine.  I can relax and enjoy the afternoon walks; he can relax and, you know, do the puppy thing.

And as you can see, he’s reeallly good at doing the puppy thing.

Have a wonderful weekend, folks!  See you Monday.

Hunting For Heather, Or: Unrequited Is The Best Kind

Heather is a feral cat that the Fools took in some years back, and who lives with us — slinking among the stuffed animal menagerie — in the Fools’ Court.  For years, I’m told, she wouldn’t even let herself be seen.  Now, she’s slowly growing bolder: eating, roaming, and claw-feasting on stuffed armchairs in full view, when there’s only a few of us around.  But she’s still supremely elusive — a fact only emphasized by her absurdly gorgeous and adorable looks.

Last week, over the course of a lazy, reading-and-tea -type afternoon, I intermittently tried to take her portrait.  I think some part of me hoped it would bring us closer together.  Let’s just say she had her own agenda.

The Dhamma teaches that the highest form of love, real love, is when we just give, without expecting anything in return. Easier said than done, to put it mildly — especially when it comes to intelligent pets, which are often marketed in our culture as maximally efficient Affection Reciprocators. When we love ‘our’ animals, we expect them to love us back.

But despite all my coaxing and sweet-talk, pledging catnip and cuddlefests, ultimately my desire for Heather to transform into a Happy HouseCat (avid purrer, visitor of laps) had less to do with improving her life, and more to do with improving mine. Seeing this dysfunction clearly, I (to borrow a phrase from my uncle CC) had to laugh. Sometimes we get way ahead of ourselves, you know?

Friends, Meet Gina

Hey y’all! Hope you’ve been well. Guess I needed a break from blogging: with all the March 4th buildup, plus my first deadline for grad school, this month kinda sucker-punched me from the get-go, and I’ve spent the last week recovering. Though by “recovering” I guess I only mean redirecting the same volume of energy into different channels.

Marathon catering days to raise money for the Fools (bonus: we got to eat the wedding leftovers); quality time looking after an adorable but terribly nervous beagle mix named Buster (Horror No. 43: changes in atmospheric pressure); visiting with my pops and our family pooch, plus Ryan, at the world’s most picturesque dog park; plus every conceivable type of errand and meeting for Fools’ Court — from celebrating Sharon’s entry into a 12-month rehab program (run by nuns — which we take as an auspicious sign), to helping Ra Mu move the last of his earthly belongings out of storage; discussing domestic affairs as our household numbers swell from the standard two to sometimes 7 or 8.

Fool work remains totally fascinating and utterly provocative. There is always some edge to work. Some surprise to catch you off-guard, and make you think. Some nuisance, some awakening.  On International Women’s Day, a handful of us women find ourselves sitting in a circle, each attentive to her own reading.  A few moments later, Kat is coaching Gina in writing a letter to her son, given up at birth 25 years ago and recently found (at least we’re pretty sure it’s the right one) on Facebook.  Kat advises (1) that it’s important to give him the room to decide whether and how to respond, and (2) that the yellow legal pad paper looks too formal.  I scamper to my room and grab the bag of assorted stationery gifted to me for Chanukah.  Toothless, gracious, muscular from biking and sweet as can be, Gina selects a few Georgia O’Keeffe cards.  Sade’s new album, one of her jams these days, thrums, ticks, oohs and aahs on the stereo.  We all sip our tea.  I am happy to be here, with these women.

Reports from our free yoga class indicate she's a natural yogi. You can tell just by the smile, though, no?

Friends, Meet “Advance The Struggle”

Advance The Struggle: Bay Area Radical Perspectives

Last night was a night of dealing with domestic abuse.  (A friend of a friend.)  So today I’m tired and needing some solitude, reading, and yoga.  But I wanted to share real quick this inspiring website, Advance The Struggle, which my friend Ryan, from San Francisco, was kind enough to introduce to me here.

Click here for pamphlet
Click here for pamphlet

The blog focuses on marxist politics — analysis and praxis — in a thoughtful, energetic, well-balanced way.  And this pamphlet they produced (worth viewing as a PDF, if you can, for all the stunning artwork), is a great place to start: an insightful commentary on the radical organizing vacuum following the police murder of Oscar Grant back in January.  Follow it up with the response article by Bring The Ruckus, super useful, in my opinion, for adding the concept of “strategic and lasting” institutions, or “dual power.”  Selma James’ 1975 essay, “Sex, Race and Class,” reprinted in full, is another good read.  And of course, don’t forget to check out the comments on the posts — there’s fruitful discussion in there, too.

I’ll share my own thoughts and responses tomorrow, or when I’m feeling up to it.  Maybe link it to Glenn Greenwald’s must-read rundown of the CIA’s 2004 Inspector General Report, recently released, on the U.S. torture of suspected terrorists. Meantime, if you’re feeling what they’re saying on A/S, click and comment allá!

Take care, y’all.

love,

katie

Friends, Meet My Folks

Hey y’all!  Hope your week’s going beautifully.  Sorry for my absence lately, but I’ve been busy with some very special visitors to Barcelona…my Mama and Pops!

Ain’t they sweet?

We’ve really been on the go — today, for instance, we’re taking the train to visit the Vipassana center; checking out an exhibit at the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (“The Jazz Century,” it’s called — and it looks fabulous); rest; dinner; wandering El Born; and then a bit of classical Spanish guitar. With a pace like that, I may not have time to post much of anything these next few days, but I’ll make it up to you some way. ;) Meanwhile, enjoy the week, wherever in the world you are.

Mis padres y Don Eugenio en Park Güell
Mis padres y Don Eugenio en Park Güell

Friends, Meet Nyle

Yo, isn’t it a fabulous feeling when one day you discover that a friend of yours has been…discovered? :D

Nyle Emerson and I met in the sweltering summer of 2006 while we were both volunteering for the Common Ground Collective in Post-Katrina New Orleans.  There was an open mic night for the CG folks, and when Nyle got up to do his thing, he asked for a “beautiful, willing female from the audience,” or something like that, to come up and kind of adorn his performance.  Ha! So when no one else volunteered, guess who stood up?

Continue reading

Friends, Meet Les Bébés Chamaillard

Photo credit: Proud Papa

The Chamaillard and Loncke families have a long history together.  Forty years ago, my dad met Patrick Chamaillard at law school, and the two became lifelong friends.  Dad visited the Chamaillards in France many times; he still remembers the stories Patrick’s father (who, coincidentally, taught at Harvard as a visiting professor in, like, 1929) used to tell about kings and banquets and eels. I myself am named after Patrick’s late wife, a luminous, beloved, big-hearted woman who died of cancer before I was born.

As teenagers, in the early nineties or so, the three Chamaillard children — Melanie, Laure, and Guillaume — each spent a summer with our family in California.  (I was wee so I don’t remember too much about it, but to this day Melanie can still recite our address.)  And now, all the children have children of their own.  This week was my chance to meet the new generation.

Laure gave birth to beautiful twins: Bastien, on my lap in the photo above, and his brother Hugo.  So sweet and curious.  Can’t hardly feed ’em in the high chair, they’re so busy looking around the room.

Melanie has a wonderful baby daughter, Juliette.  Alert, full of smiles; loves it when you whistle. I stayed overnight and she didn’t cry even once, bless her heart.

And Guillaume’s daughter, Thelma, three-and-a-half, eluded my camera, on account of we were too busy reading and playing games with dad and granddad.  (Girl has got some energy.  Destined for soccer, just like her papa.)  We read a couple English Roger Hargreaves books (whose covers, to my delight, have started appearing on t-shirts lately), the French versions of which were some of my very first reading material as a little tyke.  And the circle of life continues…

Friends, Meet My Trip To Spain

Yes We Carnaval!

Well hello there!  Fancy meeting you here on the internet!

I don’t have a lot of time, friends, so this’ll have to be brief, and a bit outdated.  But I wanted to share a little about the beginning of my travels.

The following is just a copy of an email I sent out to friends and family about two weeks ago, right before I started the 10-day Vipassana meditation course that finished up on Saturday.  I won’t go into detail about the course yet, but in short, it was wonderful.  And today, after a brief rest in Barcelona with the same couchsurfing couple I stayed with when I arrived, (they are marvelous, and we’ve since become good friends — a total, total blessing) I’ll head back to the same meditation center to volunteer as a server for the next 10-day course, cooking meals and cleaning for the students.

So, without further ado, here are some words and images.  From now on, I’ll always try to post copies of these mass emails, since the blog is easier to follow for some folks.

Sending love and wishing y’all the greatest happiness!

–katie

———

11 february 2009

dear friends and family,

buenas noches de barcelona!

as most of you know, i´ve embarked for the next year or so on a journey in spain, and tomorrow marks the end of my first week in the country. i came here without a program, without an institution officially backing me, and without a fully-formed idea of how the next year will look. (though i can tell you right now, if i stick around barcelona, the year will probably look like Winston cigarrettes, sprung-from-nature buildings, 3-minutes-apart metro trains, and well-groomed pregnant people enjoying government-sponsored maternity leave.)

since mass emails are not my stong point, i´ll keep it short. mainly, i just want to say thank you for your presence in my life. each of you has given me something vital, something that has made possible this incredible opportunity for growth. some of you teach me not to be ashamed of my desires. some of you inspire me with your genuine, compassionate motivations for travel. (more than tourism; less than ´saving the world.´) some of you show me how to embrace spirituality. others remind me not to take myself so seriously. (key.) and still others have birthed and raised me. (double-key. hi, family! :->) in any case, meditators often dedicate the merit of their practice to other beings, and i want to start out by dedicating to all of you any merit that my travels might generate.

okay, now a little of the nitty gritty. my first week here in barcelona was spent couchsurfing with a sweet young expat couple boasting gorgeous georgia drawls. i signed up to couchsurf with them expecting to sleep under a roof and endure some awkward small talk. one poker night and a three-hour, nine-person, bib-festooned catalunyan feast later, not only do they want me to come back and stay again, but i´m also borrowing camping equipment from friends i met through them. and another small community is born.

falling into the arms of nurturers has been a major blessing during what feels like an unstable time. so far (for the last six days, at least), the lack of structured plans has both helped and haunted me. my attitude toward concrete itineraries has vacillated between: (a) itineraries are desperately needed — they fundamentally determine the success of the trip, and (b) itineraries are essentially unimportant — they possibly obfuscate of the main point of the journey. just when disaster looms (like yesterday, when the meditation center i´d applied to, my main logistical reason for coming to spain, told me i couldn´t get in for another two months), another path opens and balanced perspective is restored. to me, this is a beautiful gift of travel. the future is so clearly out of my control that choices become much simpler. when everything is going to shit, my options are: try again, or try something else. matters will unfold as they unfold. and when i´m not fixated on a particular outcome, i can appreciate each step for its own sake.

por ejemplo. one of my best moments so far was taking the train to the meditation center, unannounced, in the middle of one of their 10-day courses, just to appear in person and see the place with my own eyes. hoping they´d say there was room for me, but mostly just enjoying the process of going there, out of the city to el campo. the desolate train station in palautordera; the apologetic smiles punctuating my lousy spanish; the countryside: the sun, the clouds, the hills, the dogs barking; the getting lost, the truck driver who grinned and pointed uphill; the ascent; the soft, awed folding of my hands as i stood outside the center´s iron yard gate, waiting for someone to notice me; the wry, bulbous cheekbones of the woman who finally did — a woman who appeared to age as she approached; the friendly, non-committal answer; the three-mile walk back to the station on a road of mud; the waiting for the train while peeling a small, precious grapefruit with fingernails the color of blackberry jam. it was a mini pilgrimage — not in a religious way, but in the sense that you can make a pilgrimage anytime, to the grocery store, for example, or to the home of a loved one who has fallen ill. do you know that feeling? it´s one thing i´m hoping the meditation practice will help me to consciously cultivate: that vivid awareness that transforms errands into adventures.

okay, friends, i lied: this is not short — it is, in fact, way way way WAY too long! i am sorry. and i totally understand if you didn´t make it all the way through. for those who did, thanks! (mom, dad, hehe.) tomorrow i begin the 10-day course at the meditation center, called Dhamma Neru Centro de Meditación Vipassana. (three hours after they´d told me no, they called me back and told me yes!) after the course is over, i´m hoping to stay on for two or three more months as a volunteer, more or less, living in the facilities and serving the other students who attend the courses. but until then, the dormitories are full, so it´s the great outdoors for me. hence the newly borrowed camping equipment. :->)

with love,
and hoping this note finds you happy,

katie

———

ps: a few pictures, yeah? ;->) a few from the city, one from s.m.palautordera, where the meditation center is (the building pictured ain´t it, though), and a couple from that banquet, which centered around calçots — a special kind of onion in season right now. they char them over an open flame, and then you pull the slippery, sweet insides out from the outer husk, kind of like you would a crab leg. the whole scene, in fact, definitely had an upscale-crab-shack air to it: bibs, dipping sauces, plates of hollow residuals…delicious.

Gaudi's La Pedrera
Gaudi's La Pedrera
Skeletal Fashion On Diagonál
Skeletal Fashion On Diagonál
Almuerzo de calcots al restaurant Maisa Can Borrell
Almuerzo de calçots al restaurant Maisa Can Borrell
On the stroll after calçots
On the stroll after calçots

Friends, Meet Henry Mills.

henry frogazoomOh boy.  Oh boy, oh boy.  You know those reflex tests where the doctor taps your knee and you can’t help but kick?  Or if you’re asleep and someone pinches your nose shut, you can’t help but open your mouth?  Thinking about Henry Mills is kinda like that for me: no matter what, a smile just comes.

As Beyoncé Knowles once said (yes, seriously), “You are who you’re around.  If I don’t want to be like you, then I don’t want to be around you.”  The positive side of that aphorism: surround yourself with people who not only impress you, but also inspire you.

Henry and I met in the summer of 2006, volunteering in New Orleans with the Common Ground Collective.  I still can’t believe my luck in running into him.  Henry is the kind of person you want to be around.  Especially in the following situations:

> walking in a quiet park or garden

> cartwheeling in the rain

> getting juggling lessons in your Uncle John’s basement

> reading children’s stories aloud in a giant used bookstore

> brewing ginger tea

> mourning a loss

> driving in a fantastic lightning storm

> gettin’ down at a great show

> making your own great show

Another great situation to share with Henry (and I hope he won’t mind my saying this) is a kissing situation.  Continue reading