Introvert

I have taken versions of the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator test numerous times. I recently took a very condensed version on Facebook. The result is always the same, regardless of how lengthy or shortened the given test is. I am always an INFP (Introvert, INtuitive, Feeling, Perception) type.

You are idealistic, loyal to your values and to people who are important to you. You want an external life that is congruent with your values. You are curious, quick to see possibilities, and can be a catalyst for implementing ideas. You seek to understand people and to help them fulfill their potential. You are adaptable, flexible, and accepting unless a value is threatened.

I used to be bothered by the idea of being an introvert. I believed that meant I was unsociable, uninteresting, shy—boring. And I have felt that I was viewed in all those ways by some. I remember a classmate telling me I was "shy" and I bristled at that characterization. It sounded so fearful and insecure to be shy, and I've never thought of myself as either. At the same time, I envied the extroverts who seemed always to be the life of the party, the popular kids. I thought I might be able to change if I tried really hard. But, of course, I couldn't/didn't and eventually came to understand that this is a part of one's personality that is pretty fundamental, though probably everyone has elements of both. And what I have learned about the difference is that basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people. An extrovert is energized by being with other people.

Could this child have ever changed herself into an extrovert?

Nope.

What I have found fascinating with the Facebook quiz, is that nearly all the people who do what I do, ie. fabric art, are either INFP or ENFP types. The Introvert/Extrovert part seems much less relevent than the other three characteristics. We had an interesting discussion in our STASH group awhile back about taking classes. Gerrie, an extrovert in every way, loves to take classes. Loves to meet a lot of new people in classes, loves to put together a "posse" to have lunch with, trade fabric with, share tools with and generally bond with. I rarely take classes. I prefer to study a book, and experiment on my own. When I do take a class I am usually the one in the back corner, away from the noisy, social group, finding my pace with the teacher and doing whatever it takes to block out everyone else and get into my own zone. OK—I'm not really that antisocial—I socialize during breaks and after class, but I don't want to be distracted when I'm trying to learn something! Just knowing that each personality type draws its energy from two different sources makes the differences in experience and preferences perfectly logical. I'm going to try to remember that.

Summer winding down

At least that is how it seems, though mid-August really is still summer. But I hear people talking about kids starting school, parents taking their college age kids off to college, teachers working on getting classrooms ready, "back to school" ads on TV. Did these things always happen this early? I don't think so.

If you have been reading here for awhile you know that my friend, Beth, and I have been walking, almost daily for more than 6 years—up until a couple of months ago. Beth had surgery on her foot and it has been a slow healing process, but we are now back to short walks. In the meantime, my friend Paula retired from her job and is joining us. It feels so good to be out walking again! Yesterday I took my camera along.

One of the things I love about walking is that you see things you never knew were there, even though you may have driven through the area many times. This beautiful little pond is hidden from view, behind office buildings. There are always ducks, and yesterday, a heron.

Back on the street, the wildlife is more urban in nature. But you know how I love crows. I can't resist a photo of a nice, big fat guy like this one.

As always, we ended our walk at Starbuck's. When we took our coffee out to their patio, we found this guy wandering around looking for a handout.

Paula said she had seen him the previous day, trying the cross the busy street by Starbuck's, on foot. Fly, little duck, fly!

When a woman with a dog arrived, little duck disappeared from the patio. When we left, we found him around the corner at Noah's Bagels, chewing on a piece of bagel. We decided he is a fastfood-loving teenager, enamored of city life.

Mystery solved

This morning my friend Carla left this comment on yesterday's blog entry.

"That is my mother. The tiny photo is the one I scanned to be on my blog http://59andholding.blogspot.com/2006/11/moggie-loggin.html This was posted just a few days before she died. She is four or five in that picture. Her younger sister called her "Moggi Logan."

That solved the mystery of who Moggie Loggan is, but presented an even more puzzling mystery. How did the photo end up on my floor? Carla lives 3000 miles from me in Delaware. I haven't seen Carla for several years and she has never been in this house. As far as I know I have nothing that has ever belonged to Carla, like a book, from which the photo could have fallen.

To add to the coincidental nature of all this, we are planning to visit Carla and her husband Bill in Delaware next month and even more coincidentally, we just saw her daughter and grandson a few days ago when they were visiting Portland. This was all beginning to creep me out a little!

I had, of course, seen the picture on Carla's blog when she posted it nearly 3 years ago, but I had forgotten it, though I did have the sense that I had seen the picture somewhere before. She even mentioned the name "Moggie Loggan", her younger sister's mispronunciation of her real name, in her post. I had forgotten that too.

I remember Carla's Mom. I knew her when Carla and I were in college together. She was, in so many ways, like my own mother. They were of that same generation and had a similar kind of sense of humor as I recall. And like my Mom, a very loving, warm person. She died shortly after Carla posted the picture, back in 2006.

But how did that picture get here? Finally I remembered that several days ago we received a large envelope from Carla, containing information and brochures for things and places we might want to visit when we are in Delaware next month. I think perhaps the picture was inadvertantly scooped up with the other materials Carla placed in the envelope. Then when Ray opened the mail at his desk, the tiny photo fluttered, unnoticed, to the floor where I found it later.

I'll bring it back to you, Carla, when we come.

Who is Moggie Loggan?

The other evening I walked into the room we use as our office and face up, in the middle of the floor was this tiny photo—about an inch across. (I've enlarged it so you can see it better)

Where did the photo come from? I don't know, nor does Ray. On the back, written in red pencil are the words "Moggie Loggan"—her name, I suppose. A beautiful child, but unknown to me. I'd guess, from her attire, the photo may be from the 1920's. It reminds me, in its style, of photos of my mother taken about that time. Who is she? And how did her picture end up on our carpet in 2009?

I've had the little photo propped up against my pencil cup, where she watches me at my computer. Who are you? Where are you now, Moggie Loggan?

Sunday odds and ends

I am never sure whether Sunday is the end of the week or the beginning of the week. Most printed calendars hang Sunday out there at the beginning of a week, but I think the whole Biblical thing about resting on the 7th day makes it sound like that is Sunday. I always think of it as the end of the week. I guess it's not something everyone agrees upon! Anyway, at the end of this week I can look back at a pretty productive week.

I continue to doodle/stitch. I finished this house early in the week:

It was fun to do, but when I finished I felt it veered a little close to a kind of cuteness I am not very interested in. And maybe it was losing some of the loose spontaneity I started out with. So I made another, more unplanned and spontaneous. I like it.

I already wrote about painting my kitchen door. It is growing on me. Glad I did it. I have been looking at a little spot in our yard that I began to envision as a small succulent garden. It is right next to the steps up to the front porch, and looked like this:

I did a little reading about succulents, went to the Garden Center and bought some, then with Ray's help we mixed a good sandy soil mix, moved some big rocks into place and I planted my little succulents.

I know they look puny now, but this is just the beginning. These will grow and multiply and I will continue to look for the other colors that I want. I am not much of a gardener—I am usually in charge of the pots on the porch and not much else—but I have a vision for this area. This is my vision:

Photo from Sunset magazine web site

I'll post the pictures when it gets there!

STASH met on Thursday. Always a good time and great lunch! On Friday Emily and I went to see Julie and Julia. Very funny, very good! I had enjoyed the book and enjoyed the movie just as much. It isn't the kind of book that creates characters and images that a movie can never live up to, so it's not a disadvantage to have read it first. Meryl Streep is not just an amazing actress and amazing mimic, but she projects such humor and warmth you don't want the movie to end because you just don't want to let her go. I really want to believe that Julia Child was as endearing as Meryl makes her. Isn't half of loving a movie, loving the characters?

Yesterday we got ourselves up and around and went to a parade. It was the Multnomah Days Parade, a tradition from our old neighborhood. We met up with our friends, Carla and Bill's, daughter and grandson who are in town visiting friends. Erica and baby Jacob live near Washington D.C.

Erica's friends play in this band, which marched in the parade. It is a well-known Portland band, made up of anyone who wants to play and have a good time!

Sweet Jacob didn't make it through the whole parade, but the rest of us enjoyed it right to the end.

This has gotten long. Thanks for hanging in here, if you are still with me!

Green door

If you've been reading this blog for awhile you probably remember posts and posts and posts about our remodeling project and painting and getting this house habitable. We still have projects to go, but so far I have been very happy and comfortable with what we've done in the kitchen and livingroom and diningroom and den. It's an open plan so these rooms all flow together. There has been a small matter, however, that has bothered me. Look at this picture. Do you see what it is?

That white door. It is really a very warm, off-white, but somehow it seemed to be a big blank WHITE spot on that wall every time I looked that way. This week I painted it.

I like this better. Feels warmer to me. I left the molding off-white. I like that crisp little detail, but the whole door was too much. I considered painting the door the same color as the wall, only a bit darker. I think I would like that too. Maybe I'll get tired of the green door some day and do that. Meanwhile, I am humming, and bopping along to this song. Of course there was another famous green door, but we won't go there.

Wonder what's what's behind my green door? Well, it hardly lives up to the song. It is, sadly, not "an old piano and they play it hot."

Laundry. Recycling.

Mi casa es su casa

My friend Paula told me there is a new Goodwill Super Store in Beaverton, so I went and found it today. I have to say that I love browsing Goodwill stores. This one has a very impressive book section and has a lot of clothes, but I usually gravitate toward that corner toward the back that is the "whatever" section. You just never know what you'll find back there. I carried around a white porcelain toilet paper roll holder thingie for awhile, but put it back when I realized there was a mounting piece that was missing. Then I found this.

It is about 10 inches wide and will go on the studio we are still trying to figure out how to build. Or maybe it will just go on the door to my little workroom/hovel that I am currently working in. I loved its Mexican Talavera kitschiness.

I recently read a blog that referred to "tacky Mexican pottery" and I had to laugh. It is probably exactly the kind of stuff I love. The writer had used a photo of said pottery as the subject for an art quilt, but she had changed the colors to a palette of tasteful greens. Odd. Well, that's my opinion anyway. I once used a piece of Mexican pottery in a quilt too butI didn't change the colors.

And, as long as I'm going on about Mexican pottery I have to remind you of this story. Still using and loving the bowl and still blown away by the gesture.

Viva la tacky Mexican pottery!

Made by hand

I love having around me things that were made by someone's hand. Things made by machine certainly have their place, especially when you need something smooth, easy to clean and utilitarian, but the things that really lift my heart are almost always things made by hand. Art, craft—whatever you want to call it, I like the spirit of handmade things. I thought I might share some of my favorite handmade things here and invite you to share yours.

These beads were made by my daughter from polymer clay. She went through a phase of beadmaking as a teenager. It was a stressful time for her and I think—or maybe I'm projecting my own way of dealing here—that it was calming to work with the clay, create the tiny patterns. I remember during this time she asked me once what I would like for Christmas and I said I would love a necklace made from some of her beads. The necklace she made for me is beautiful, but I was a little disappointed that it was so tasteful and the beads all perfectly matched and coordinated. What I really liked were the random, mismatched beads that you see above. (To give you an idea of scale, the largest ones are about an inch in diameter.)

She stopped making beads, went off to college, traveled, came home, went to graduate school, traveled, came home, moved into the adult world and the beads were forgotten. About 8 years ago she spent some time with us and went through boxes we had stored, getting rid of old clothes and papers and things she no longer wanted or needed. After she left I was emptying wastebaskets and saw the string of beads in the basket from her room, tangled among old papers and notebooks. I pulled them out and hung them on a doorknob. They now hang on the doorknob to my work room and I often stop to handle them and admire the patterns and color. Like so many things, each bead by itself is nice, but not especially notable. It is when they are strung together like this that they take on a life and richness that pleases my eye so much.

It didn't surprise me that my daughter had thrown them out. I'll never know what meaning, if any, they held for her. But probably the enjoyment of making them was what counted for her. But, for me, I'm glad I saw them before they were gone forever.

You knew there'd be a bird

Still experimenting with this doodly idea and seeing what works and what doesn't. I've had a few questions and comments, that I thought I'd try to answer.

Q Jo asked, "Are you using a "regular" sewing machine using free-motion or are you using a long arm? and how did you get the dots that aren't connected to anything? Are those by hand? "

A I use a regular sewing machine—a Janome 6500 to be precise. I love this machine! Its only variance from "regular" is that it has an extra wide harp which makes it better for quilting large pieces, but that is irrelevent in this instance. These pieces are quite small. Each is approximately 8.5" square. I am free-motioning the stitching, which means I use a darning foot, lower the feeddogs and then "draw" by moving the fabric under the needle.

The dots. When I made the first two pieces I added "dots" by hand. Each is a French knot, done with two strands of embroidery floss. On the the third piece I tried adding the dots using my sewing machine. Here is a closeup—hand knots on the left, machine dots on the right.

I prefer the hand done French knots and went back to that with this newest one.

Q Barbara asked "So what happens to this square now? Does it get framed or does it become part of a larger project? Is it destined for Etsy?"

A For now these pieces are being stacked up on my work table with no particular plan. I am just enjoying the process of experimentation. At some point I will decide whether I want to try to sell them or keep them. I do think they might work in a frame, mounted on a piece of black mat board. They may show up on Etsy. Too early to know.

Q Well not really a question, but a comment. Jeri said I was on a "slippery slope" to becoming a machine embroiderer and Margaret referred to it as embroidery, reminiscent of Rebecca Crompton, an embroiderer from the '30s.

A Well, I'm flattered by the Crompton comparison, though I think the similarities are very slight. I don't think of what I am doing as embroidery. It is, quite strictly speaking, machine quilting, not unlike machine quilting I have always done, except that I am making it a more pronounced design element by using black thread and incorporating the designs into the design of the applique. The stitching is done after the top is layered with a flannel backing, though I might try using a thin batting and backing. It is a new-headed way of quilting for me for sure, however, as generally I try to focus on adding texture with the quilting, now I am quite consciously adding "line" with the quilting.

I confess I have a bias, unfair though it probably is, against the whole idea of "machine embroidery." Hand embroidery is one thing, but machine embroidery conjures images of programmed Tweety Birds and His and Hers pillowcases. Sh-sh-shudder!

Q Lisa asked what size thread I am using.

A I don't know what the size is because the label is gone, but it is the most ordinary thread you can imagine. Star Thread, 100% Egyptian cotton in 1000 yard spools. It is not fancy, but I love it and have been using it for years. I buy it at the Mill End Store.

Here's today's work

8.5" x 8.5"

Thanks for all the great comments yesterday. You really have no idea how motivating they are! I really did think I'd work on something architectural today, but somehow leaves are what I kept seeing.

Doodles—another way

Everything I have been doing, artwise, lately, has been carefully planned, for something and mostly on a deadline. Yesterday I found a bit of time to fiddle and play. Because it has all been pretty structured lately, I wanted to do something spontaneous, so I pulled out some of my bits and pieces of favorite fabrics and just started cutting and laying things out.

I decided right away that those pieces on the yellow backgrounds were not going to work and things needed not to float so much, but connect a bit. (By the way, these photos, shot in the studio always are really "hot" color. It isn't so red in reality)

This was better, but lacking. Then I thought about my doodles. Like the one below. Maybe I could doodle with my sewing machine and add a little interest to this goofy little abstract.

Wow, was that ever fun! So much fun that I made another. Each of these is approximately 8.5" square. The second one ended up having quite an architectural flavor to it, which gives me an idea to push that idea further. I'm sure there will be more of these.

Both of these are clickable for a larger view.

Birthday memory

Today would have been my Mom's 84th birthday. Rather than being sad, it is a good day to remember what a great Mom and wonderful person and funny lady she was. I remember, very clearly, her 30th birthday. I was nine years old.

I bounded out of bed, eager to celebrate Mom's "big" birthday. I could hardly wait to give her the present that Dad, Becky and I had carefully chosen, but she was nowhere to be seen as I wandered out into the livingroom. Dad was reading the paper and put a finger to his lips and said, "don't wake your Mom. She had kind of a bad night last night."

It was a hot, still night, much like it was here in Portland last night. Mom, quite pregnant and uncomfortable could not sleep. She stepped out onto the front porch to see if she could catch a cool breeze and saw that the neighbors' lights were on and decided to see if her friend, Alice, next door, had a book or magazine she could borrow. Walking through the grass, she stepped in a hole, fell and broke her ankle. While Becky and I slept, under Alice's watchful eye, Mom and Dad drove to the emergency room and came back, several hours later, with a big, awkward plaster cast on Mom's foot and ankle. Becky and I slept through the whole adventure. When Mom finally got up that morning, she gave us a wan smile and spent most of her birthday resting on the sofa, with a fan pointed at her. Soon enough she was up and around and hauling her pregnant self, plus heavy cast, around on crutches. She said she served the useful purpose of making everyone who saw her feel better about their own lives! She got a lot of sympathetic looks and women, especially, would roll their eyes and groan in sympathy when she went out in public. I do remember though, that she allowed no pictures taken!

Three months later my brother, Steve, was born—with a crazy bad fear of falling. Even as an infant, if you picked him up, out of his bed, he would claw at the air, gasping, with a look of terror on his tiny face. To this day he has a hard time climbing a ladder, boarding an airplane, and I don't think he has ever ridden a ferris wheel.

Happy Birthday, Mom! Wish you were here—but you wouldn't like the heat.

Frida

I have kind of a "thing" about Frida Kahlo. I have been intrigued by her painting for years, then several years ago we had the opportunity to see quite a lot of her work in a special exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum. Seeing work in person is often such a revalation and it was in this case. When the movie, Frida came out I was eager to see it. A wonderfully creative, beautiful movie! I ended up buying the DVD. I never do that. I have watched it several times.

A couple years ago, when we went to Mexico City, my friend, Muriel, and I went, one day, to visit the home that Frida and Diego Rivera lived in. It was also Frida's childhood home and is now a museum. What a wonderful day that was. She was a very eccentric woman and loved to dress in a very exaggerated ethnic Mexican style and many of her dresses and much of her jewelry were on display, as well as her paintings and the furnishings of the brilliantly painted house. The gardens were gorgeous. You can read my account and see photos of our visit to the Casa Azul and also my misadventure at the museum home of Frida's onetime paramour, Leon Trotsky, here, on my post titled Frida's house and Trotsky's bathroom.

When the current theme for the 12 x 12 group was announced as "passion" I was at a loss for weeks. One evening several weeks ago Ray and I pulled out the Frida DVD to watch for probably the 4th or 5th time, and I suddenly knew what the subject for my piece about passion would be. I have done several quilted pieces that are portraits, and I must say that achieving a recognizable likeness in fabric is not easy, so it was with trepidation that I began this piece. I also needed to be respectful of copyright and create my own image, rather than slavishly copying an existing photograph, so I used many photos, as well as many of her self-portrait paintings to guide me. It isn't a perfect likeness, but I am satisfied that it is recognizable. It was an extremely satisfying piece to work on.

I hope you have had the chance to see all of the "passion" pieces done by the 12 x 12 group. They are so clever and diverse! I know you will enjoy them.

It's all relative

We slept with the windows open last night and eventually there was a cool breeze. At some point I pulled the sheet up over me. The best sleeping in nearly a week. The morning house was cool and dark and quiet. A little sunshine dappled the carpet in the den and the kitchen tiles felt cool under my bare feet.

The heat has had me feeling crazed and desperate and a little bit snappier than usual, so today has been blessedly pleasant. It was somewhere around 93° this afternoon, which would have been too hot normally, but not when it is a drop of 10° from the day before. It's all relative.

In the morning the 12 x 12 "Passion" pieces will start appearing on the 12 x 12 blog. I can hardly wait to see what this theme inspired. Join me there! http://twelveby12.blogspot.com/

Taking pictures

One of the things that blogging has done for me is to really increase my interest in photography. I think an increased interest in photography also increases my awareness of the world around me. All in all, it's really a good thing and something that I enjoy.

When I got my current camera the quality of my photographs improved dramatically, but the downside was that the larger camera was harder to carry around. Recently I bought myself a very small backpack that I can use instead of a purse and it holds my camera nicely. I would never have gotten the picture of the llama if my camera had not been in my bag next to me the day we drove down to Ashland last week.

When we were in Ashland, just after we stopped to see our old house, we saw a deer walking along the side of the road. I was able to roll down my window and snap this picture of him.

I'm not sure why I wanted a picture of a deer, since they wander through our yard fairly regularly, but he looked so great surrounded by all that ivy.

This morning I noticed how interesting the view through the windows looked through the bamboo shades.

There's Ray out watering before it gets too hot. The thing that is interesting about this view through the blinds is that the smaller the picture, the less you see the blinds and the more you see the view outside. Wierd, huh?

OK, maybe not all my pictures are that great.

Too hot

I know the weather is a pretty boring topic, but I can't think of much else right now. We are in the middle of a heatwave here in Portland. We seldom have really high temperatures and we usually brag about how pleasant Portland summers are, but this week we are sweltering.

I am staying indoors and drinking cold beverages—mostly ice water and iced tea. It really does help. I moved on this afternoon from regular iced tea to iced barley tea. Have you ever tried it? I learned about it when it was served at the opening reception for one of our High Fiber Diet Japanese Garden shows. Not really tea, it is a tisane made from roasted barley. It has a nice nutty flavor that reminds me a bit of toasted sesame seeds and is quite refreshing, non-caffeinated and not as tannic/acidic as black tea. It is common in Japan and supposedly increases the fluidity of the blood (whatever that means) and decreases stress. I drink it because it quenches my thirst and keeps me hydrated. I buy it at Uwajimaya in Beaverton.

We do not have air conditioning, so I close up the house in the early morning, then open up windows later when the outside temperature is cooler. It's pretty hot. My outside thermometer reads 110°, but it is right in the sun. I think it is only about 107° F! A bit cooler inside. I'd love to go find someplace air-conditioned to hang out, but I am trying to finish a project with a deadline. I am making birds and writing instructions and drafting a pattern. The bird pattern will be published in a magazine later this year, which is exciting! I will let you know more details, closer to its publication. Meanwhile I am writing and sewing and moving slowly and drinking cold beverages and hoping today is the peak of the wave. Here's a little bird preview.

Ashland

When I was a child my grandparents lived in Ashland, Oregon. We visited about once a year and I remember a quiet little town with a college and an outdoor Shakespeare Festival a few weeks every summer. My strongest memories are of picking blackberries and driving to the coast for the day. Many years later, when Ray finished his Master's degree he found a job opportunity in Ashland and we moved. And stayed for 13 years. By then the college had grown and so had the Shakespeare Festival, becoming the largest in the U.S. with three theatres and a near year-round schedule. Ray worked at the college. I worked at the Shakespeare Festival.

These days we go back about once a year. It has changed a lot since we lived there. It is now a haven for rich retirees. Half of the elementary schools have closed, including the one our kids attended. There are so few families with children that live there now that they aren't needed. Mansions dot the hillsides and even in this economy housing prices are astronomical.

Last week when we visited I went first to the Schneider Museum of Art, which was built when we lived in Ashland. I was a volunteer there in its first years and I think of it as a very special gift to the community from wonderful folks—Bill and Florence Schneider. The Schneiders have both died during the years we have been gone, but I always will remember them as philanthropists of the highest order. Besides the museum, they contributed to education and culture in Ashland in so many ways. I went with my friend, Muriel, to pick up her grandson from the Schneider daycare center for the children of students and staff of the university. It is a wonderful, cheerful facility that makes such a difference for young families. I remember Florence saying it was the best thing she had ever done, creating that daycare center.

Here is the Museum. The curved approach and wall with wonderful bas relief seed pods is new since we lived there. It is all a part of the Southern Oregon University Campus and the new buildings of the art department have grown up around the art museum.

As we often do, we also drove by our old house. It looks much the same as when we lived there. Either the paint has held up incredibly well, or the subsequent owners liked my choices and have repainted those same colors.

The biggest difference is the size of the trees. When we moved in there was no lawn, no trees no landscaping of any kind. The large evergreens on the upper bank were tiny potted Christmas trees the first three years we lived in the house. The Mimosa, that fills the front yard was a frail twig that we planted. The big power pole was, and is, an eyesore. We first planted pampas grass around it, but it blew fluff all over the place. Muriel, who lived across the street, hated it. We pulled that out and I planted ivy at its base. When we moved away it was covered with ivy about 10 feet up. I suppose the power company may have objected. It is once again fully exposed. But it is someone else's problem now.

Each time we return we feel less and less connected to Ashland and are really quite happy now not to be living there. But there is no denying that it is a beautiful place and will always be a part of our history.

Did you miss me?

It was a quick trip, so you probably didn't even know I was gone. We went down to S. Oregon to go to the Britt Music Festival. We missed it last year, but we have been going for more than 20 years, missing very few years. The last time we went I wrote about it here. We lived in Ashland, near Jacksonville where the festival is held, for thirteen years. Going back to the area is a chance to see old friends, see what is happening in our old hometown and have a nice break in the routine.

We headed out on Thursday morning, taking our new route through the countryside and the town of Tualatin before hitting the freeway well south of the Portland traffic. Stopped at a stop light in Tualatin, I saw something interesting two cars ahead of us.

It was a llama, riding in a little trailer attached to the back of a car. He seemed very pleased with his vantage point and rode along, calmly checking out the scenery and other cars. Handsome fellow! We followed him onto the freeway, but the llama and his driver exited at the next exit.

We arrived in the Ashland area late in the afternoon and headed to Jacksonville, with our friend Muriel, where we had a great Mexican dinner, then made our way up the hill to the beautiful concert venue on the grounds of the Peter Britt estate. It was the second time we had seen the Indigo Girls at Britt. Their beautiful voices seemed to float across the hillside and up into the starry sky. The beauty of the place, the smell of the pines, the music fills me with such joy.

It truly is one of my favorite things in life. Here is one of their lovely songs. Even more beautiful with the audience singing the chorus along with them. "So we're OK, we're fine . . ."

It occurred to me, sitting on that hillside with people I love, surrounded by beauty and music, that whatever the world takes out of you, these are moments that fill you up again. And we really are OK. We're fine.

Rereading

I think of summer as a time for reading, though the truth is I always have a book going, regardless of the season. Growing up in Pocatello, Idaho I especially remember summer days, riding my bike to the little old Carnegie Library to fill my bike basket with books. I read and reread every Nancy Drew, every one of the Oz series, every Agatha Christie, biographies—I loved them!— and more.

I have a few books that I reread every ten years or so. The Great Gatsby is one of them. That is my well-worn copy, purchased for $1.25, when I was in college. I was prompted to pull it out this week, by a Facebook post a friend made. It had a long list of supposedly "must read" books that you mark if you have read them and can make a notation as to your opinion. My friend rated The Great Gatsby as "overrated". I was more surprised than outraged. How could anyone not love this book? Romantic, tragic, and so beautifully observed. It is such a visual book. I know, quite certainly, how the Valley of ashes looks and I can close my eyes and see, across the water, the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. I have seen only one of the movie adaptations, the one with Robert Redford as Gatsby, and beautiful as that movie was, it did not begin to replicate the detailed mental picture I have in my mind. I suppose no movie ever could. Robert Redford, handsome devil, was too sparkly and modern. In my mind Gatsby will always be a Leyendecker illustration—the Arrow shirt man—hair slicked back, a little sadness in the eyes. And, of course, a beautiful shirt. (if you've read the book, you know about the shirts—)

Do you have books you reread? Is that a strange thing to do? There are parts I forget, and things I think I notice for the first time, and maybe it reminds me of the first time I read the book and how it made me feel. And maybe it's a kind of pleasant, buzzy deja vu as it all comes back to me.

"Can't repeat the past?... Why of course you can!"

-F. Scott Fitzgerald-

The Great Gatsby