Inklings

[dad's pen]

My dad doesn't even remember how he got this pen, but my brother and I remember it from our childhood. Cleaning out an old desk a few years ago, I chanced upon and claimed it. But it was full of dried up, crusty ink. Even after buying a new converter nothing would come out of the feed. Frustrated, I put it aside, where it stayed for a good year or more.

A few months ago I brought the old fountain pen to a shop and had it professionally cleaned. The shop owner told me that even he had trouble, it was entirely clogged. He also told me that the entire tip of the nib was missing, giving it a small, flat edge a bit like a calligraphy pen.

[pilot fp cap + nib]

I did some research on what type of pen I had; the only markings on it are the brand name, Pilot, on the cap, and "14k" and "pilot" on the nib. A quick browse through eBay put the pen in the 1970s-1980s range, which is about right. I didn't see any with the decorative design on the cap like my pen has and am left to wonder about that.

Now that the pen's in working condition, I've been on a kick to play around with it and also to do more research into purchasing a fine pen for myself. It's harder for a lefty like me, for whom holding the pen tilted to the left results in "pushing" instead of "pulling" the ink from the feed. Even with this pen, sometimes I have to write with it "up-side down," where the feed is over the nib instead of vice-versa.

My research has opened up to me the world of pen, ink, and paper blogs, which I find fascinating.  I am appreciating the passion and detail with which these bloggers write their reviews and experiences with such a variety of writing implements.  My pen-related vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds, as is my knowledge of the same.  Perhaps I'll find my perfect left-handed fountain pen sooner rather than later after all.  The search is on!

Solociccia

It took me about five years to read Heat in its entirety: JY lent t to me while in culinary school, and I retuned it a few months ago--3 years after his return! Yikes. Though the time it took me to read belies the fact, I really enjoyed the book. Not being a cook or "foodie" by any stretch of the imagination, I nevertheless appreciated the insight into kitchen hierarchy and Buford's humorous, self-deprecating tone.

The things I read about in Heat seemed so far off that I didn't make the connection between the names of places in the book to the names of places on my Italy itinerary until we were there and chatting with Dr. Bob, the trip organizer, on the first night in Florence. Turns out we were going to Panzano, and going to eat at Dario's restaurant. Whoa!

We had some time to stroll around the town before dinner so many of us visited Dario's butcher shop. It was wild: wine for everyone, which Dario himself poured from a large bottle in one hand to a stack of glasses held in his other hand. One side of his shop is more like a buffet: a spread of fresh bread and Chianti butter, various meats, peppers and jellies for sale, and an iron cow, divided into cuts. Through the window in the refrigerator door were visible huge hanging cuts of beef. On a cutting board in front of his meat counter was a cutting board on which stood an herb-stuffed roast and pepper jelly. Dario was both entertaining and serving customers; it was wild.

[cheers in the butcher shop]

[rosemary + bread]

[Dario's spread]

[stuffed meat + pepper jelly]

[got beef?]

The scene was no less calm at his restaurant, Solociccia ("Only Meat").  D and I (late for having strolled around the town a bit more) were separated from our group by the ginormous butcher block that held the night's portion of meat for the entire restaurant, about 50 people. We sat with a young Italian couple, celebrating thee second anniversary (her English was really good; turns out she's studied for a while at UCLA); a couple of gals from Belgium; and some Canadians and Americans further down the table. Turns out some of the staff was international, too, having corme to apprentice with a master (as had Buford). By the end of the night the grappa was free flowing and everyone was friends.

[beef sushi]

[only meat]

[medium rare]

My favorite was the first course, a tartar described as, "beef sushi." I'd never eaten raw beef before and was a bit wary, but it was infused with herbs and olive oil and was surprisingly delicious. The Chianti butter--lard with salt, pepper, garlic, and rosemary--was served alongside baked potatoes instead of spread on bread as in the butcher shop, and was infinitely more enjoyable when melted in the warm potato flesh. To top it off we had olive oil bread and espresso (I didn't touch the grappa).

It was a pretty awesome meal. I enjoyed the showmanship of the experience and the great taste of all that meat. But I've been back three weeks and still haven't had any beef.

Packed

I'm packed and ready to head to Italy! Here's what I have for nine days and nights:



In the backpack (above):

• Peep toe platforms


• Flip flops


• B&W striped calf length leggings


• Black leggings


• Lacy foot socks, 3 pr


• Bathing suit


• Goggles


• Black capris (channeling Ms. Hepburn)


• Gold high-waisted pants


• LT grey khaki cutofffs


• Long sleeve denim snap shirt


• Tan merino cardigan


• Travel skirt (can pull up to strapless dress)


• Grey cotton dress (pajamas that can double as an outfit w/ leggings)


• Tanks, white, yellow & white, magenta


• Camisoles, navy, white


• Sheer hexagon print top


• Sheer metallic ribbon top


• Brown cotton ruffle lace t shirt


• Floral print t shirt


• Ribbon hat


• Pink handknit shawl


• Leopard print neck scarf


• Cosmetics


• Toiletries

 

Worn:

• Black cashmere sweater


• Dark wash jeans


• Foot socks


• White blazer


• Loafers

Purse (above):

• Wallet


• Passport


• Phone


• Earphones


• Adapter


• Charging cord


• Travel wetnaps


• DSLR camera


• Scarf-cum-camera wrap


• Glasses


• Sunglasses


• Eye patch


• Ear plugs


• Umbrella (rain forecasted!)


• Handkerchiefs, 2


• Moleskine


• Lip balm


• Eco bag

Tucked in a linen napkin and tenugui after reading an email, from the trip coordinator, warning that Italian hotels tend not to provide washcloths.

We'll see how well I did as the trip goes. Weather us supposed to be like So Cal, in which case I am quite confident. Off I go--ciao!

Artsy Autumn: Natural History Museum

I can't recall whether the NHM feels familiar because I went here on a school field trip back in the day, or because Night at the Museum was filmed there. In any case, it's an awesome space and was a treat to make a day of attending. I was especially excited about the Dinosaur Hall, which was very educational and well done, in terms of information and presentation.

[triple t-rex]

[feet]

The Pacific Standard Time exhibit was small, covering only the second story in the rotunda area. Still, I appreciated the timeline presentation and the historical tie the NHM has to Los Angeles art and artists. (We tend to forget that Exposition Park -- now sadly in disrepair and neglected with more recent and glamorous event venues -- lies in a very central part of LA. I hope that changes and this wonderful area is restored to its 1984 Olympics glory.)

After a delicious lunch of Peruvian fare, and a walk back through the Rose Garden, NHM Visit Part 2 commenced: American history hall, gemstones, and dioramas of African and American mammals. Delightful!

I now have a handy PST booklet and have marked all the exhibits I'd like to see. Onwards!

Coffee with Chemex

I had a chance to purchase filters and brew coffee in the unmarked but unlikely faux Chemex coffee maker I thrifted a few months ago.

The filter is actually a sheet folded into quarters. The paper is supposed to be 30% thicker than regular filters, therefore straining more impurities out if the grounds.

Thanks to my awesome jot water kettle, I have 210-degree water at the touch of a button. I placed the filter in the Chemex (3-layered side against the spout), scooped in my grounds, added enough water to just cover them to allow "bloomage," and then slowly poured additional hot water until I got to my serving size. Took about four minutes, same as the brew time in a French press. Cleanup was a snap: lift filter and toss; rinse glass. Et voila:

I'm not sure if you can see from the photo, but the Chemex brews a mighty clean cuppa. And it tastes clean, too. Verdict: yum. I can see why so many reviewers say they'll never have coffee any other way again.

Now that there's a coffee maker for my section, I can deal with mediocre brew during the week and enjoy the slow drip-drop Chemex coffee on weekends. Now, off to the grinder.

Pacific Standard Time

Looks like Arsty Summer is far from over.  Pacific Standard Time officially starts this weekend.  It's been all over the paper and magazines for the past couple of weeks.  Tons of hype.  And it's gonna be tons of awesome.

This weekend kicks off with FREE admission to a number of museums and I'm hittin' up the Natural History Museum to see this exhibit, along with the dinosaurs (of course!).

I've got my eye on loads of other exhibits, mostly those highlighting MCM design and architecture, and culture. These will take me all over LA and as far out as Palm Springs and San Diego. There's even an exhibit in the OC that shines a light on my alma mater.  Check the link above; there's tons of information and slideshow previews. 

Hello, Artsy Autumn.

 

Remembrance

[mama n' me]

It's been two weeks since my mom's first anniversary memorial and it blows my mind that she's been gone for an entire year.  I had left myself a buffer of a few weeks to sort out thoughts and emotions, but when it came down to it I was one.  hot.  mess.  Especially because Mom's was a week after the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, and those memories revolve a lot around my parents.  I sat down to write about my mom and the waterworks started -- surprising because I thought I was fully resolved that she had truly finished her life and was therefore okay with it all.  But the truth was -- and is -- that I will always, always miss this lady.

When I have bad days, I miss my mom's comforting hugs.  She always insisted that it's okay and I'm still young and it'll work out. 

When I have good days, I miss my mom's celebratory hugs.  I miss her comments on my haircuts and manicures.  I miss her guilt trips over my shopping, until I told her I got a good deal, and she'd say, "Good girl!"  I miss her curiosities over my knitting or sewing or embroidery projects.  I miss the way she said, "turtle," or "squirrel."  I miss her grammatically precise emails, how she always wrote, "perhaps," and never, "maybe."   And her texts.  I miss her laugh.  All the seeming little things that are such huge and gaping holes in my life, now that they're no longer a few miles down the road.

So, you see, I can't have a day that's not without missing some part of my mom.

My coworker saw my puffy red eyes coming out of the ladies room, put her arms around me and let me sob into her shoulder for as long as I needed.  She lost her mom a few months after me, so knew exactly how I was feeling and exactly what I needed.  Thank God for sending angels at just the right time.

As the weekend progressed, we observed the cultural customs.  At the Buddhist temple, we found Mom's photo on the big wall along with all the other people who've died.  Her coordinates are OO-64.  The feeling of being so separated from her was surreal and discomforting.  My younger brother had his mini-meltdown then.  The next day, when the extended group -- family, coworkers, high school alumni, college alumni, NZ alumni -- gathered at my dad's house, was another day of showing up.  I'm so grateful to my cousins who helped with all the food and serving!  My youngest brother had his meltdown then: in addition to mourning and missing Mom, he just found out that one of his housemates was killed in a hit-and-run bicycle accident.  Sadness and shock all over again.

The picture above is one I took of me and my mom at the black sand beach at Waia'napanapa on the island of Maui, when our entire family vacationed there in 2009.  It was our first family vacation since my brothers were kids, and Mom's first year of retirement.  We ate and drank and talked and faught and swam and shopped and drove and watched the sunrise and had a great time.  My SIL later shared that my mom actually said she had fun, that she did things -- like snorkelling -- she'd never done before and never thought she could do.  With all her kids.  At the same time.  How awesome is that?  After a lifetime of work and struggle and never thinking that she could ever rest, I'm happy that she had a couple years to relax before she left us. 

I won't try to wrap up this post in any succint or "lesson learned" manner because the truth is, this sadness and gladness over my mom will ebb and flow for the rest of my life.  I don't know whether that's okay or not; it just is.