News from the Forge

Another amazing love story ... Johnny & Kristin!

2011-10-05T21:03:00.000-07:00

Johnny's parents kiss him off while sister Sarah, bride Kristin, and brother/Best Man David laugh on

It was another tear-jerker. Family Wedding Number Two for 2011: Nephew Johnny Reimann and Dr. Kristin Jacobsen, amazing athlete, veterinarian, and human being.

Kristin Jacobsen had it all mapped out – literally.

Kristin doesn't like cake, so she ordered an "ice cake" - very Minnesota - which melted beautifully with colored lights during the evening

She had organized a rehearsal dinner at “Spill the Wine,” a trendy restaurant in a restored factory. She gave everyone in the wedding party spreadsheets so they knew where to be when and how to get there.

Johnny and Kristin’s wedding was quite different from his sister Sarah Likens’ in June. No church, no minister, no hymns. It was en pleine air, atop a beautiful terrace at Nicollet Island on the Mississippi River in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. Across the river, you could see the brick condominium where Johnny and Kristin have lived together for two-plus years.

The wedding party getting ready in the "green room"

Officiating graciously was Justin Gaard, a childhood friend of Johnny’s and a radio personality in the Twin Cities. He established his “man of the cloth” position from Universal Life Church, which gives on-line ministerial licenses, and proceeded to crack hilarious jokes even as he performed the simple ceremony beautifully.

Lindsey Jacobsen with mother of the bride Liz Jacobsen

Kristin’s beautiful sister Lindsey, as Maid of Honor, watched after the train of Kristin’s wedding gown, and helped Kristin keep her cool as her carefully orchestrated wedding flowed on. Johnny’s brother David was a solid Best Man, who provided a comical moment as the diamond-studded wedding rings in his pocket got caught on an errant thread when he pulled them out.

The bridal bouquet

The ceremony was joyously sparse, with very few frills – just a lot of personal comments most of which had been solicited by the couple ahead of time: grandmothers’ advice (honesty & first-priority love), their own reasons for marrying each other (integrity and fun), parental suggestions (take alone-time and together-time often).

Kristin thanks Grandma Helen for great advice

A lavish reception followed in the adjoining pavilion -- made from the ruins of a boiler factory built in 1886. There, a photo booth provided guests an opportunity to take funny photos in various styles (b/w, color, sepia, etc.), which went into an album which you signed – a great way to remember more than just the guest list. Nearby, photos of the weddings of the bride and groom’s parents and grandparents proffered a window into the past.

Gordon and I had fun in the photo booth

After a luscious dinner, we danced late into the night. Young relatives wowed the group with break-dancing, even as the bride and groom danced with everyone. The Reimann and Jacobsen clans melded.

Proud parents Alice and John Reimann - whew, enough weddings for awhile!

The next morning, the grandmothers hosted a brunch at the Westin Hotel in downtown Minneapolis, built around the old Farmers and Mechanics Savings Bank, where I had first deposited my coins in elementary school.

Helen, Mark and Gordon enjoy breakfast with the groom the morning after

The bride and groom then swept away to their honeymoon in Costa Rica and Belize, where they planned to hike and scuba dive.

Kristin and Johnny Reimann - the honeymooners - made a quick getaway the next morning

Having two weddings in one year put all our cousins together more than we’ve been for decades. We enjoyed looking at photos, many card games, a great performance of “Hairspray” at Chanhassan Dinner Theater, and a hike at the family farm (since sold to the Philadelphia Community, a wonderful Theosophical group).

Cousins Francia Mann, Charlotte Wuepper, my sister Alice (mother of the groom), Lynn and Jim Shaffer - on Nicollet Island

And we noted how few divorces have happened in our family.

A story of love...Sarah and Jeff tie the knot

2011-06-20T16:04:00.000-07:00

photos by Brady Willette

It really WAS the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to. And I’ve been to some pretty great ones.

My niece Sarah Reimann married Jeff Likens, and now they’re Mrs. and Mr. Sarah and Jeff Likens! The service was held at Westminster Presbyterian Church in downtown Minneapolis – a place sacred to our family because my sister Alice and hubby John were married there in 1978. My dad Otto’s funeral gathered 650 there in 1999. And it’s a place where many great ecumenical speakers have spoken. Plus, it’s a gorgeous sanctuary, with big stained glass windows arranged around a central dome.

First of all, the people were gorgeous. Michelle Obama’s obesity campaign not much needed here. The wedding party could all be models. Many attendees, too.

My nephews Johnny and David look on as Alice lights a candle

Second, we were treated to luminous music played by my cousins Charlotte Wuepper (on flute) and Francia Mann (on violin), with Francie’s husband Brian accompanying them on piano for one of my favorite pieces (Delibes’ wonderful Flower duet) while the couple lit their own "union candle" and blew out the two their mothers had lit before. Tears trickled from my eyes.

Reverend Richard Phenow, married to one of Alice’s friends who danced with her in the Edina High School Hornettes precision dance line, officiated in an intensely personal, humorous, affirming, down-home way. Practical spirituality. He encouraged a long, heart-melting kiss.

Click on the photo and see if you recognize anyone...

Afterwards, the crowd blew bubbles as the couple exuberantly burst out of the church and headed to the Minikahda Club, where I had learned to swim as a child and where we’ve celebrated many weddings, funerals, and high school reunions.

John Reimann introduced the wedding party, who sat at their own long table while the rest of us sat at round 10-tops which seemed more intimate than most because the stunning flower arrangements, featuring mock orange, carnations, and hydrangia, were on high “towers” that allowed you to see everyone at the table. He said, "Before we walked down the aisle, Sarah turned to me and said, 'I'm so ready for this!'" -- and it showed all night.

Gordon & Mark celebrating on the terrace at the Minikahda Club - the weather was great!

The best men (Jeff’s older brother T.J., and his best friend Brandon Heider) gave heartfelt talks which were revealing about Jeff’s dry humor. Sarah’s bridesmaids gave moving and hilarious reminiscences about her bawdy leadership at a young age. The dinner was over-the-top, with Minnesota walleyed pike and boneless beef rib, a vegetable mélange with white and green asparagus, an amazing salad, and chocolate brule for dessert. (The cake was small and only for the wedding party.)

Sarah and Jeff dreamed up an apt theme of “new story,” and invited people at the tables to tell stories of first dates, weddings, and about Sarah and Jeff themselves. Many told hilarious tales. Jeff, a professional hockey player whose latest gig’s in Ingolstadt, Germany (about an hour from Munich), had a number of his childhood and hockey friends at the wedding. He and Sarah will live in Germany with their bulldog, Quinn.

Helen, Alice & Steve at the Club

Sarah, and my sister Alice and her husband John Reimann, have so many friends in Twin Cities area that they had to severely limit the number they could afford to invite.

One of my favorite moments was when the excellent band played a Lady Gaga tune, and my nephew David rocked out like one of her dancers. My mother Helen danced along. Many of us are still dancing.

I wonder whether this generation of young adults – many of whom have lived together and wait until later in their 20s to get married – will have a lower divorce rate than we boomers. Time will tell.

Gratitude for All

2010-11-28T19:29:00.000-08:00

Why is Thanksgiving my favorite holiday?

It’s about gratitude, which makes for a salubrious attitude.

It’s about friends, it’s about connecting over great food.

It’s about great questions like the one Orlando asked at our feast: “What do you appreciate about your mother?”

And as usual at Soundcliff (our home), it’s about poetry, music, improvisation, and everyone contributing a course. The meal usually starts at 1 p.m. and flows until 10 p.m., including breaks for hikes, conversations, and fun sharing.

Because several folks have inquired about this year’s menu, here it is:

Cocktails: Hard and soft cider, carrot-ginger juice, Chai, Ginger Tea, Margaritas, white wine

Pu-Pus: Cheeses, Belle’s homemade chicken liver pate, smoked eggs, chips with salsa, artichoke & cabbage dips (by Tom and David)

Oysters: Raw on the half-shell & cooked with Indian palak, parmisan & cream (Malcolm)

Salad: Fresh greens (spicy mustard, lettuce, cilantro, parsley, brocolini, etc.) with triticale berry mix topped with crab cake (Malcolm & Stephen)

Bruschetta: French bread with cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and basil (Whitney)

Turkey: Roast brined garlic turkey (Gordon) with Sequoia’s cranberry relish and candied yams, garlic mashed potatoes, triticale salad, shaved brussels sprouts with almonds

Mead: fabulously fermented one-year-old mead (honey wine) by Tom

Dingle Sticky Toffee Pudding: an amazing cake with toffee and vanilla whipped cream (Chris)

And dessert all through the days: Michael Hathaway’s lime-coconut bars and cardamom lemon cookies.

Among the readings:

WHAT IS MY HEART’S DESIRE?

A beautiful quiet place in Nature, self-sustaining,

Where loving people pass their time in inspiration,

Do what’s needed, living well, mastering skills

As we help each other heal this world,

Preparing still richer worlds for all who care to share:

Where The Magical breathes in every heart

And reflects through all our faces, eyes and limbs,

Where Love and Wisdom have been discovered to be innate,

Where there’s time for wit and fun,

Where work and play and reverence are one,

Where we appreciate ourselves as Divinity that’s manifesting,

Where we create – live out – explore

the full, full wonder of our destinies,

Where we – serenely or ecstatically –

Where we – yes – truly walk in beauty

All the days of our lives.

- Michael Hathaway

Around the table: Chris, Michael, Sequoia, Whitney, Gordon, Tom, David, Orlando, Malcolm

And of course, from James Broughton:

Sing Out for Eros

You on your seat there

sit up and sing out

Sing Out for Eros

Love is unbelievable

so it must be believed

Believe your own loving

your passion and folly

your incredible hopes

Praise the marvels of

joy tube and love pump

If you must feel tortured

respect your misery

and be happy about it

Only the nonsensical is

at east with the Absolute

Listen to your angels

ripening your secrets

Come to beautiful terms

with the god in your body

with the body of your god

Share flesh with others

Wake love Make love

Clasp hearts Exuberate

And never look back till

you are far out of sight

Blessings to all for a holiday season with plenty of time for rest, introspection, wit, fun, and joy.

A birthday poem

2010-04-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

When I got up this morning, a bald eagle swooped by and perched in the tree I can see from my bed... He's still there!

Radical

Unearth your roots

Shake ‘em at the sky

Uphold your traditions

Hold up your radical

Hold down your fort

Breathe easily, not queasily

*

Find and mine what’s obvious

By opening your eyes wider

Wide enough to take in

What you thought was forever outlawed

Wide enough to put out

A part of you you forgot

*

Love more

Love your weird self

Love what’s aching to come out

Love what struggles to get in

Unbind your weariness

And offer it to the sunrise

Express your weird self but

Keep it simple

Don’t be afraid to ask

And unlearn whatever’s holding you back

-- Stephen Silha, April 9, 2010 (my 60th birthday)

Psychic house cleaning

2010-03-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

The living room at Soundcliff, transformed into temporary office...

Spring has definitely sprung in the Pacific Northwest. We’re seeing premature magnolia blossoms, tulips, daffodils, rhododendrons, cherry blossoms and more!

It definitely lifts the moods of everyone I can see. Gordon and I have been introducing color into our house, after 12 years of living in a house painted entirely Navajo White. After painting our living room wall a warm bricky red, we decided my office needs a red wall, too.

Bill Palmer masks the room in preparation for painting the office wall

Bill Palmer, our wonderful neighbor who is an exacting painter, agreed to spend an extra day painting my office wall if I would clear it out. It was a dare.

Bill Palmer, the amazing neighbor, painter, storyteller, father and raconteur

Those who know me know that my office looks like a cycloned paper junkyard. Not any more.

What surprised me most was that I discovered (duh!) that I write hundreds of notes, to-dos, and names of people on small scraps of paper, then bury them in my piles. Having unearthed most of my piles, I now have a to-do list that may number 200 things, but it’s organizable!

Now both walls are red -- the house harmonizes! (Thanks again, Gordon/Bell!)

This is revolutionary for me. Stay tuned to see how long it lasts…

Perspectives by the Bay

2010-02-08T12:41:00.000-08:00

The amazing Golden Gate Bridge, which we crossed a number of times on our way to and from digit productions, where we rented gear

San Francisco and its gorgeous surrounds was where James Broughton spent most of his life.

It’s always fun to go there and meet people who were influenced directly and indirectly by him. You can still feel his spritely spirit dancing around the city.

Eric Slade, Big Joy documentary director, and I swung through for two interviews after our time in Los Angeles and Santa Barbara. Art Adams worked skillfully behind the camera.

Keith Hennessy is an amazing performance artist, dancer, and queer theorist who considers Broughton one of his ancestors and inspirations. “There’s a queer scene and an artistic scene that I’m in, where Broughton has always been present,” Hennessy told us before a dress rehearsal for his current performance, CROTCH.

“The more I see him as someone who helped set up the conditions – the material, the psychological, the imagistic, the psychic conditions under which I operate, as both as an artist and as a gay person—the more I start to perform out of that place, to extend that lineage.”

Keith Hennessy at Dance Mission before he took off his clothes for (part of) the performance, "Crotch"

“He has a kind of child’s eye view on the body and sex and God and the earth and all their interrelations. He brings a combination of innocence and curiosity to each of those pursuits.”

Here I am with Anna Halprin, at the beautiful Marin County home she and her husband Lawrence built in the 1950's

Friday, we got to visit Anna Halprin, the dancer and choreographer who was part of James’s life from the 1940’s on. In a way, she was his muse – the dancer he always wanted to be. And she danced to his poetry, as you can see in a brief scene in the Big Joy trailer.

Anna was married to Lawrence Halprin, one of the great landscape architects of the 20^th Century, who passed on last October. Together, they inhabited a creative space in Marin County, where we interviewed Anna.

She and James were part of the “San Francisco Renaissance” after World War II – an important story we’ll be able to tell in the Big Joy film. She described the creative environment: “We were very free and open-ended, not very self-aware. There was a lot of fun, excitement, cross-pollination between us.

“In New York, the dance scene was more traditional. I was working alone, but in connection with the painters, the poets, architects, the actors’ workshop – looking for stimulation, cross-fertilization. The word multi-disciplinary came up as a description of the work we were doing.

“James and I had a special relationship because we both enjoy wit. I never could take anything too seriously around him. … We both dealt with serious subjects in a witty way.”

We shoot Anna dancing James Broughton's poetry at San Francisco's Palace of Fine Arts in Broughton's film "Four in the Afternoon" (1951)

Being with Anna in her beautiful home was inspiring to me, and gave me a better sense of the community she and Lawrence shared with James Broughton, Alan Watts, Imogene Cunningham, Richard Brautigan, and others.

California dreaming ...

2010-01-29T10:19:00.000-08:00

Cinematographer Ian Hinkle and Director Eric Slade line up the perfect shot of the Pacific Ocean, a spiritual soulguide for James Broughton

Eric Slade and Ian Hinkle and I just finished three days of shooting in Los Angeles! We barely escaped the rains, and had lovely weather and an amazing host.

It’s becoming a tradition in the Big Joy Project to start with a challenging interview. The first time we worked together last April on the Big Joy film, we interviewed James Broughton’s ex-wife Suzanna Hart, a wonderful artist who lives in a senior facility in Mill Valley. She seems to be in a state of permanent memory-lapse, so her answer to the first questions was “I don’t remember.”

After we showed her the “program” she created for her wedding to James in 1962, her memory started to return. By the end of the interview, she was so cogent we looked at each other and said, “This interview was worth the trip to San Francisco!” (Ian lives in Victoria, Eric in Portland, and I near Seattle.)

You can see her in the trailer for the film, which we finally got online after YouTube censored it for nudity. (Go figure – if it were grossly violent they wouldn’t censor it. James’s films were also banned in St. Louis and censured by PBS in the 1980’s.)

Poet Robert Peters' portrait was done by Don Bachardy. When he saw the microphone there, Peters asked "Is he going to talk?"

On this trip, we interviewed the preeminent poet and poetry critic Robert Peters, who did some of the best analysis of James’s poetry in the 1970’s and for years taught at the University of California at Irvine. He’s also suffering from some kind of senile dementia. He’s very jolly, has a great sense of humor, but remembers little. However, when he read James Broughton’s poetry, he did it with rare verve:

Are you willing to go to
your own infinity
Willing to relish a really
fine undoing?
What's wrong with going
all the way
for a bangup crucifixion?

As things are now
everyone is mad
asleep or
on the wrong bus

-- James Broughton

It was fun to see Peters and his life partner poet Paul Trachtenberg watching a scene from James Broughton and Joel Singer’s film Devotions where they are lifting weights and doing intimate athletics together in their back yard.

Don Kilhefner in the living room of Michael G's house in LA

We also had a great interview with Don Kilhefner, a therapist and pioneer of the gay liberation movement who really understands James Broughton’s Jungian analysis and his role as an early leader of the Radical Faeries.

The next day we interviewed Mark Thompson, an author and photographer who knew James better than most and who was responsible for convincing me I needed to make a film about James rather than writing a book. “If you write a book,” he told me in 2008, “it’ll take eight years to do it right, and nobody will read it because who’s heard of James Broughton? If you make a film, and it ‘s good, you’ll have an audience if you still want to do a book.”

Obviously, I took his advice. And look at the fine mess I’ve gotten myself into, as Laurel and Hardy would say.

Not quite Laurel and Hardy: Mark Thompson and Stephen Silha

We also got to interview Mark’s husband Malcolm Boyd, the famous Episcopal priest who wrote the best-selling Are You Running with Me, Jesus? and Take Off the Masks. He coined a new word explaining James in our interview: “quadra-sexual.”

Our host in LA was Michael G, and old friend and surely the host with the most. His home, his cooking, and his repartee ware truly inspired. The only downside was that his dogs ate all my energy bars and tried to eat one of Gordon’s bells. (Actually, he only ate the leather cord and the bronze ‘This is It” bell is still for sale at a bargain price on the Big Joy website!)

We also had a wonderful dinner at Vermont, a restaurant which Michael and his partner Manuel created and re-created.

We then drove to Santa Barbara where we interviewed one of my favorite practitioners of Big Joy, the author and poet Michael Hathaway. He’s truly “The Gardener of Eden,” and we got to shoot him in his garden and on the beach.

Michael Hathaway

Michael, Ian and Eric in Michael's garden of eden

Big Joy Thanksgiving

2009-12-10T23:20:00.000-08:00

The table, just before soup course

We celebrated Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, again this year at Soundcliff (the house where Gordon and I live), as I have every year since I moved here in 1989. (Except the year that the house was under reconstruction, when we moved our ceremonies to James Broughton and Joel Singer’s house in Port Townsend, WA.)

As usual, we began at 1 p.m. and ended the Thanksgiving feast around 10 p.m. Before, during, and after the courses (everyone brought a course), people hiked, read poetry, asked questions.

Thanksgivers: Michael Hathaway, Chris Young, Shawn Boley, Whitney Kimball, Malcolm Dorn, Gordon/Belle, Orlando, Tom Pruiksma, David Mielke, Sequoia

Two poems were written for this occasion which I’d like to share. The first, our invocation, from Tom Pruiksma:

The Big Joy

for Stephen

I want

on this day

as they say

of thanksgiving

to give thanks

for love

and for joy

too little of either

in the world

that we’ve made

the world

that covers up

the world

but the joy

that we name

is not the joy

that we know

always

just beyond words

always beyond

what the eyes

can see

what a tongue

with practice

can say

like our friend

the little frog

outside the door

or perhaps

a little inside

the way we go out

or even

between walls

between worlds

his song

keeps our hearts singing

in spite of the new darkness

and descent

of the year

the fear

we won’t make it

this time

all fears

are really fears

of loving

and being loved

are fears

of getting the gift whole

no light

without darkness

and the terrors of seeing

no sight

without sunshine

in the eyes

listen

do you hear

what I say

no sorrow

without its own joy

say one

and the other is

even

in the saying

even

sailing out

from hearth

and from home

even

in the silence

before dawn

health demands more

than a little sorrow

or a little joy

a big sorrow

big enough

for big joy

big joy

a big joy

big enough for sorrow

the freedom

of the frog’s

lone song

and so

today

between past and

tomorrow

I give thanks

for the sorrow

that completes the big joy

the great sorrow

and great joy

beyond words

-- Thomas H. Pruiksma

11/26/2009

Orlando chats with Gordon and Michael as dishes are prepared

We had already had our first course, prepared by Whitney and Shawn, Michael and Stephen:

Bruscetta with avocado, sundried tomato, black bean garlic sauce

Guava chutney on pear slices

Salt and pepper almonds

Then:

Earth Root Harvest soup with roasted vegetables atop (David & Tom)

Green Tea Kombucha (Tom)

Jefferson County green salad with dressing, goodies & tomatoes (Malcolm)

Free Range turkey with golden dressing (Gordon/Belle)

Yams (Chris)

Brussels sprouts with bacon, cream and pine nuts (Malcolm)

Candied carrots (Shawn)

Gravy (Chris)

Guava chutney (Michael)

Water Kefir (Tom)

pumpkin pie (Whit)

marionberry pie (Whit)

pumpkin cake (Shawn)

lemon chiffon sparkling pudding (Michael)

After-dinner drinks (Gordon)

During the feast, some questions were put to the group:

· What do you remember about your childhood for which you are grateful?

· What’s your vision or dream for the future, and what are you going to do about it in the next year?

Friday's beach walk allowed us to mull over important questions with Puget Sound

On Friday morning, over Danish Ebelskivers, I read my Thanksgiving Poem:

Thanks and no thanks.

Thanks for aliveness that keeps us alive

Thanks for the ripeness that plumps us and pumps us

Thanks for the bounty of earth water fire

Thanks for the brotherhood burning inside us

Thanks for the questions that quest us inside

Thanks for the music that sings us

Thanks for the motions that speak when words don’t

Thanks for the food that sustains us

Thanks for the courage to go deep and wide

Thanks for the knowing to trust

Thanks for the fears we can carry inside

Thanks for the urges to thrust

Thanks for the wisdom that comes from together

Thanks for the palpable air

Thanks for the wealth of creation and loss

Thanks for the power to breathe

No thanks for the limits of kindness and patience

No thanks for the lack of good ears

No thanks for the eight years of Cheney and Bush

No thanks for the mongers of fear

No thanks for the shortness of days and of breath

No thanks for the corporate greed

No thanks for forgetting our gifts and our health

No thanks for blindness to need

No thanks for overpackaging

No thanks for undermining

No thanks for pollution

No thanks for silence on things that matter

Argentine spring

2009-11-20T13:54:00.001-08:00

Tango is in the air in Buenos Aires's Boca neighborhood--and everywhere. Boca is famous for beautiful colored buildings and futbol (soccer). We were surprised to find how full of slums it is, too.

My first visit to the Southern hemisphere was in 1997, just when I started to find winters in the Northwest depressingly dreary instead of excitingly gray. It was a November trip to New Zealand and Australia, where I delighted in spring-soaked attitudes, Maori and aboriginal culture, different constellations, great food and wine, and lengthening days.

On my first visit to Buenos Aires, I was fascinated by the Sunday market in the San Telmo neighborhood. This time, I stayed just around the corner.

This fall, I’m fortunate to be basking in spring weather and long days in Argentina. It’s my second time in this country of vast contrasts, proud traditions, and beautiful people. (The first time, five years ago, I was doing some intensive consulting for a project of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and had too little time to explore Argentina.)

I’m exploring with one of my favorite travel companions, Edward Guthmann, who until recently wrote about culture for the San Francisco Chronicle. We’ve visited Cuba, Turkey, and Italy together in recent years.

Edward and Alfredo Ferreyra. Alfredo invited us to his apartment -- the second "home" we'd been in on this trip. Travel's always better when you know locals.

My first time in Argentina, I was fortunate to meet Alfredo Ferreyra, a sophisticated travel agent who showed me around Buenos Aires. He arranged for us to explore Patagonia on this trip – “fin del mundo” : the end of the world… and the world’s only glacier that’s not receding, El Perito Moreno. Two very different parts of Patagonia. And then there's Buenos Aires, which is an astounding city. As Edward says, "Why did it take me so long to discover Argentina?"

Alfredo lives in the Recoleta neighborhood of Buenos Aires, which also has one of the most gorgeous cemeteries I've ever seen. This boy likes his foliage.

The most famous grave in the cemetery belongs to none other than Evita -- Eva Peron, the actress who was married to President Juan Peron and about whom a musical and movie were made.

After a week in Bue, as they call it, we headed south for two destinations in Patagonia.

Here are a few more photographic highlights of the trip so far (I'll add more later) …

Normally, I dislike touristy dinner-entertainment packages, but the tango show we saw at an ancient tango-house in our own neighborhood was spectacular. We tried it at the recommendation of Michelle Moore and Annie Nixon, two friends of my neice Sarah with whom we had had a scrumptious Moroccan dinner. The performance inspired us to take a tango lesson the next day!

One of the great joys of travel for me is meeting unexpected new friends. Both Edward and I enjoyed hanging out with Mark Lee from Sydney, Australia -- and when we visited the Uruguayan town of Colonia del Sacramento, we were delighted when he showed up at a restaurant where we were lunching.

After a great week in Buenos Aires, we flew to "the end of the world" -- the planet's southernmost city, Ushuaia -- a former penal colony which sits on the Beagle Channel, which I think is pictured above, if it's not the Strait of Magellan.

While in Ushuaia, we took a boat ride that went by some blue-eyed cormorants (above), sea lions, and penguins

Our boat stopped at a fishing vessel, where smiling fishermen handed us a centolla, or King Crab, which is a premier delicacy of the region.

At an astoundlingly beautiful Estancia,or ranch near El Calafate, we feasted on lamb, watched gauchos herd cattle and sheep, and saw a sheep shorn by hand.

A visit to El Calafate and the amazing Glacier National Park allowed us to have an up-close-and-personal look at one of South America's biggest glaciers, and the only one on the planet that's holding its own in size and not receding. Here, you can see a chunk falling off -- it's calving, as they say.

Family Milestones

2009-10-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

When Helen arrived in Seattle, we first had lunch at the Pike Place Market

When I look back on 2009, what will be the most important things?

Wow, it’s already been a jam-packed year. So much happening with Journalism That Matters, with the Big Joy Project, and with Youth-Adult Dialogues.

But I think our family milestones will be the key.

Gordon, Helen and I love to spend time together in Florida, in Minnesota, in Europe, and at Soundcliff (our house)

In 2009, Helen Silha, my amazing mother, celebrated a big decade birthday in May. She came to Seattle to visit Gordon and me, proclaiming that she wanted a quiet dinner with us to celebrate the occasion (rather than a big party my sister might throw for her in the Twin Cities).

Surprise! Alice Reimann (my sister) hugs Helen in a surprise appearance in our kitchen

Johnny Reimann, John Reimann, Helen Silha, David Reimann and Mark Silha about to munch on Salmon dinner at Soundcliff

We held the quiet salmon dinner – but surprised her with the whole family showing up. It happened exactly a year after a fatal accident nearly killed my nephew, David Silha Reimann, so we celebrated both Helen’s birthday and David’s astounding recovery.

David Silha Reimann and I prepare an Ebelskiver breakfast for the family

As if that weren’t enough to celebrate, we also marked a 50^th birthday for my brother Mark in July!

When Mark was born, my parents were told he probably wouldn't live past 18. We celebrate 50 and many more!

Mark loved the attention -- the cards, presents, and most of all the presence of good friends, old and new.

Mark and Gordon get down on the dance floor at Mark's great Soundcliff birthday party

Mark's cake -- a Gordonian bundt cake -- was marvelous!

Mark and I went to Camp Parkview for a week in August, and had a great time.

Mark and I hung out with 60 campers and 25 counselors at the beautiful Camp Burton land on Vashon

Dawn and Mark danced to the amazing inspired music of an Elvis impersonator

Master storyteller Merna Hecht transformed campers like Mark into gorgeous creatures

And now, this week, we celebrate the 25^th anniversary of the Silha Center for the Study of Media Ethics and Law, which my parents created in 1984 at the University of Minnesota, the day after Otto, my dad, retired from a career at the Minneapolis Star and Tribune Company. He was a Horatio Alger – he worked his way up from copy desk editor to CEO of the parent Cowles Media Company.

We commissioned this painting of Otto A. Silha and presented it to him at his 80th birthday celebration

And after he retired, Otto not only announced the creation of the Silha Center, he also created his consulting firm and worked on his futuristic City Innovation project until the day he died – September 11, 1999.

As a family, we are grateful to him, and to each other, on this and every day.

The road to Big Joy

2009-07-13T09:27:00.000-07:00

Center of literary and political activism for many years, City Lights Bookstore anchors the North Beach scene in San Francisco

A white-haired man skateboarding down the street.

A nun with full beard and hairy legs carrying groceries.

A skinny man with tight jeans, a protruding crotch, knee-high leather boots, a leather jacket and leather hat.

An older woman dressed to the nines walking her dog.

Welcome to San Francisco, the city James Broughton called his home. These sights are commonplace here. I’m on the second of three San Francisco Bay Area shoots planned for the film, Big Joy, a documentary about “following your own weird” using the life and work of James Broughton as a lens.

The Beat Museum is home to art, photos, and history of the Beat Movement; Ferlinghetti was its publisher and 'shopkeeper'

You can feel the West Coast fog and smell the sea that were so important to James. You can feel the creative spirit that still lives in places like City Lights Books, the first paperback bookstore in the U.S. (1953), where we interviewed poet and artist Lawrence Ferlinghetti this week. (I can remember his book of poems A Coney Island of the Mind opening whole chambers in my imagination to possibilities of expression when I was in junior high school. What an honor to interview him in his office at age 90!)

With Ferlinghetti in his office above City Lights Books, Charlie Chaplin silhouetted in the window

I’m so glad to be working with veteran film director Eric Slade, who produced an award-winning documentary about Harry Hay, the father of Gay liberation, called Hope Along the Wind. We interviewed Armistead Maupin, who spoke eloquently about James's poetry, which his partner Christopher read to him when they were courting.

Eric Slade (right) with Armistead Maupin and his partner Christopher Turner at their home in San Francisco after a great interview on Sunday

We started this odyssey last November, at James’s gravestone in Port Townsend, WA, where his epitaph reads, “Adventure Not Predicament.” Making a film is indeed an adventure for this print journalist.

We were thrilled to get an interview with George Kuchar, underground filmmaker who taught with James at the San Francisco Art Institute in the 1970s

James was the father of West Coast experimental film, having made his first film, “The Potted Psalm,” in 1946. After that, he made 23 films and published 23 books of poetry.

James Broughton is featured in a display on gay and lesbian writers at the San Francisco Public Library (click on photo to read)

I’m making this film -- and creating the Big Joy website -- for several reasons. For one, I loved James. I met him in 1990 at a Radical Faerie gathering, and we became friends and mutual mentors. For another, I thought he was a master of images – words, visuals, music – and nobody under 40, it seems, has ever heard of him.

Plus, there’s his message to filmmakers and poetic livers: “Follow your own weird.” He goes on to explain: “But this doesn’t mean that all you have to do is turn on the camera and express yourself. Just as talking has nothing to do with creating, self-expression has nothing to do with art. ‘Anything goes’ may be therapy but that is only prelude to the shaping of what has been unloosed. For a painter the frame defines the shape of an image. A filmmaker must work within the fixed rectangle of the camera eye. Ideally this limitation focuses his imagination.”

One of many iconic buildings in the North Beach neighborhood, where James once lived and published books and did readings with people like Anais Nin and Michael McClure

So, the film making adventure moves forward. I realize that as executive producer one of my main roles is to raise money – eek! Not one of my favorite things.

So I’m shamelessly asking my friends, family, and admirers of Broughton to dig into their wallets and imaginations to help make this film happen. I’m convinced it will make a difference.

(If you are interested, please e-mail me at ssilha@comcast.net .)

The Beat Museum in North Beach

Gay Pride and beyond

2009-07-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

Who ARE those masked superheroes on rollerblades?

I can't believe it's July already. Half of 2009 is over? Well, I've obviously been out creating a website and shooting a film instead of blogging. But summer's here and the time is right for gardening, filming, dreaming, scheming, and connecting with friends. I've marched in two gay pride parades in the past year, after 10 years of inactivity on the pride parade front. Both were astounding. Last September I marched with the Gay Island Gardeners in the first-ever gay pride parade on Salt Spring Island in British Columbia. And Sunday, I marched solo in Seattle's amazing Pride Parade. I was able to hitchhike and march with Rosehedge, the first AIDS hospice in Seattle, and be a beacon/sentry for the ACLU of Washington. The parade on Salt Spring Island was amazingly diverse -- lots of straight allies, a very joyous community feeling.

At the rally/concert after the Salt Spring Island Gay Pride Parade, everybody connected and many danced

Seattle's parade on Sunday was something else. Instead of a small community feel where everybody knew nearly everybody, it was a large community pageant. Tens of thousands of people. Many -- maybe half -- of the floats and contingents were corporate or commercial -- buy this or join that. Maybe that's why many people stayed away. At the same time, there were many longstanding traditions -- Seattle Men's Chorus, Dykes on Bikes, Bailey-Boushay House. And many political issues and candidates.

It was great to march in front of the ACLU, whose chant of "Be Yourself" went well with "Follow Your Own Weird"

Most amazing was the diversity of people: young, old, gay, straight, transgendered, multicolored. The media's power was on display as it's now obviously "cool" to be gay (in the wake of Will & Grace, Ellen, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy)... to display affection, to dance naked in the International Fountain, to show how affirming church congregations can be. And just when you think it's time to move beyond "gay pride" celebrations, you see rampant homophobia play out in schools, organizations, and communities. Yes, we've come a long way... and there's still lots of work to do.

OK, time to check out Big Joy.org!

Birthday Season

2009-04-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

Tulips and sidewalks and sun (in Pittsburgh) -- oh my!

This season (as always) is so busy there’s not even time or energy to blog!

Blossoms are popping everywhere and new energy and creativity are in the air, when I’m not exhausted or overwhelmed.

Salmonberry blossoms grace Vashon Island at this time

The demands of Journalism That Matters (I finally got to speak about it at the Green Festival at the end of March), taxes, house/garden maintenance, and ramping up the Big Joy Project have made it difficult to smell the apricot blossoms.

Soundcliff (our house) in spring -- it doesn't get much better!

It’s a good thing I celebrate the entire month of April as my birthday, because the actual day was a disappointment – conference calls all morning, and packing all afternoon. The only delight was a beach walk with Gordon and a fabulous dinner of barbequed lamb, fingerling potatoes, and mustard greens.

But the trip that came next was amazing, and I may have to do several blog entries to do it justice. I flew to Pittsburgh, where my friend Dr. Owen Cantor, a well known dentist and cultural maven, picked me up at the airport. He whisked me to a floating gay gathering known as G2H2 – gay guys’ happy hour – which happens at a different straight bar every month. Then we went to an amazing Turkish restaurant with live music. Pittsburgh is the friendliest big city I’ve been to in a long time; when no tables were available, a group invited us to join them! We had a great time, and by the end of the evening it seemed like we’d known each other for a long time. A woman belly-danced.

The Czechoslavakian room at the University of Pittsburgh's amazing Cathedral of Learning, which dominates the Oakland neighborhood

Just one of many great birthday celebrations -- thanks, Owen, for the amazing time in Pittsburgh. I loved so much about it – the weather, the music, the healing of an industrial city.

And now the celebrations go on – Gordon and I heard Leonard Cohen in concert Thursday night in Seattle, and in early May we’ll witness the Seattle Opera’s production of The Marriage of Figaro.

This is always a busy time – the Open Studio tour in early May, followed by the Youth-Adult Dialogue and Media That Matters at Hollyhock. Whew!

Birth mirth
Easter feaster
Devilish dervish
Gardening fiend
Open to the new sounds
The sounds of reconciliation

Moonrise, Moonset

2009-03-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

Amazing pitcher plants at Sarasota's Selby Gardens can catch and devour animals

Hourglass sand on Longboat beach
Slips through toes and memories
Heart pounds as waves burnish shells
And pound sand dollars into dimes

First love flutters when
Sounds of music and surf keep
‘Comin’ back to me’ ...

Florida’s not usually my favorite place, but I just had two great weeks there.

Howard Finberg and Ellyn Angelotti were our hosts and co-convenors at the Poynter Institute

The first week was the Journalism That Matters gathering at the Poynter Institute in St. Petersburg. It was extraordinary in that 85 people from all kinds of media (print, broadcast, online) and educators, authors and activists showed up and participated in a lively inquiry on journalism in the new news ecology.

Mark, Gordon, Helen and her good friend Jackie took a break from looking at Gordon's amazing bells

Then, Gordon and brother Mark flew in and we had a great week with my mother, Helen, at her condo on Longboat Key. The weather couldn’t have been better.

We even got to see my cousin Alice Deck and her husband Jerry -- traveling in their extraordinary mobile home-away-from-home

I was reminded of visiting that same beach as a kid, when the white sand was even whiter and it was easier to find sand dollars on the beach. I recall walking that beach when I was first in love, feeling more alive than I thought possible. Seeing sunsets through palm trees unlike any I’d seen before.

This time, I got to see the full moon rise from Helen’s condo on the east side of the key, and then saw it set while jogging on the beach the next morning. We all got a little sunburned, the kind that itches and feels good.

Mark and I had a ball swimming in the Gulf of Mexico on Longboat Key

It reminds me how important it is to spend time in nature every day, and how important it is to take breaks from our usual routines.

And despite some dismal economic news, I feel more hopeful about the future of journalism and the future of the U.S. given current leadership. It’s ironic, though, how complex new stories are emerging (not just in Washington) and mainstream media still for the most part don’t get it. They continue to try to polarize, oversimplify, and cover everything like a horserace. It’s a good thing there’s a new ecosystem of news.

The censored invocation

2009-01-20T08:00:00.001-08:00

Before coffee this morning, the almost ex-President hosted the new one! Photo from CNN.

Today is the first day since the Iraq War started in 2003 that I am wearing no black. It's a great day in America. Even Karl Rove says so, now that he's a Fox News commentator. We're watching Fox on TV and Democracy Now online. It's a good balance.

Some say they're shocked that Bush didn't pardon Scooter Libby or Ted Stevens... yet. Here, since it was omitted by NPR, HBO, and others who broadcast Sunday's inaugural kickoff concert and event, is the invocation delivered by Bishop Gene Robinson, the openly gay Episcopal bishop.

Bishop Robinson at the Lincoln Memorial. Photo from USA Today.

Opening Inaugural Event
Lincoln Memorial, Washington, DC
January 18, 2009
Delivered by the Right Reverend V. Gene Robinson:

"Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God's blessing upon our nation and our next president.

O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will:

Bless us with tears -- for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless us with anger -- at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort -- at the easy, simplistic "answers" we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience -- and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be "fixed" anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility -- open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance -- replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.
Bless us with compassion and generosity -- remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.

And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for ALL the people.

Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.

Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead. Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods. And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe.

Hold him in the palm of your hand -- that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.

AMEN."

New Years Evolution

2009-01-20T04:11:00.000-08:00

Poetry stenciled on the window at the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center on the Long Beach Peninsula

Forget what I might resolve
It's more prescient to evolve
What's giving me labor pains? What's rotting my fetid brain?
Look -- look out over the sea
Fierce blanket of blue-green fudge
Roiling tides of question marks
Thick crashing expletives
Do a downward dog --
Look between your legs
Say goodbye to lies and hate
Leave them back in '008
Say hello to mystery
Open lines of conversation
Ask questions of the moon ...

I'm standing with Malcolm Dorn as my scarf whips in the chilly wind on Long Beach

Indeed, it helps to go to the sea when things seem murky. The constant crashing, the negative ions, the tidal motions – the inside’s out. You move through different states of consciousness more easily. Perfect for this particular new year, which feels in many ways like the beginning of the 21st Century.

Clearly, the 20th Century was amazing – incredible inventions, horrible wars, great art, horrible and wonderful movies, astounding progress in civil rights in many places. It was the century of exponential growth. And that, in 20/20 hindsight, didn’t work. The Club of Rome was right. There ARE limits to growth, and other things. The planet is showing us now with its pains and strains, its new extremes. Unchecked greed kills (thanks, Cheney et al).

So now, where? Fortunately, we have a new leader who does not have all the answers. He sees the complexity of it all, and welcomes everyone’s ideas. And the Internet provides a way (albeit imperfect) for us to have more global conversations.

Parker Lindner's beautiful new house in Ocean Park sits beside the 12 x 14-foot beach cabin where she escaped for 20 years

Seven of us danced in the new year with 10 dozen oysters, champagne, and a beautiful new house to christen at Ocean Park on Washington’s Long Beach Peninsula.

The oysters from Oysterville -- just of few of the many we shucked and sucked

We enjoyed group-facilitated yoga, stories by the fire, 8-handed massage, and underwear fashion shows. Four of us made timelines of our lives, through 2040 (we’re still working on parts of those).

Inaugurating Parker and Ann's new house with New Year's Dancing: Gordon, Malcolm, Parker, Collin, Tuti (from Hawaii)

We walked back in time at the amazing village of Oysterville (where we actually bought 12 dozen oysters and two oyster knives). In the church there, Malcolm played the piano and we waited for someone to light the gas lights. (Nobody did, so we enjoyed the dark.)

The Fresnel lens which used to send beacon 20 miles out to sea from Cape Disappointment has been replaced by a weaker, electronic light.

Gordon and I stopped by the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center, where they ended their expedition with a wet, wet winter and Maia Lin has created some stops on the Confluence Project.

In fact, our time on the coast was also wet and windy, but that didn’t keep us from beach walks, beach runs, and amazing times together. What a great way to enter this new time.

We left a snowy scene at home, but by the time we returned it was gone. Happy New Era!

A gift from the heart: The golden keychain

2008-12-22T14:28:00.000-08:00

With Ilka in Salzburg, Austria, in 1983 (Photo by Robert Huber)

“The key is in the light at the window.” It was engraved on the back of a golden pocket watch that had been made into a keychain.

This is the gift I most cherish. An idea that keeps me sane in times of insanity.

The real gift was the friend who gave it to me, Ilka Chwatal -- a surprising figure in my life, a woman who loved aphorisms and spouted poetry without thinking. (She died in a kitchen fire in 2001.)

When I went to live in Vienna, Austria for a year working with the United Nations, a friend of a friend wrote a letter of introduction to her sister-in-law, Ilka. I called Ilka when I got there, and she immediately invited me for a tour of the city. She and her husband Peter drove me around, then invited me to their house, a modest apartment in the working-class 20th district.

I felt instantly at home. We became family. Ilka and Peter took me under their wing, introduced me to Austrian culture and cooking (Ilka made a mean Cordon Bleu – a Wiener Schnitzel stuffed with ham and cheese), took me on trips around Austria, Germany and Czechoslavakia.

When friends visited Vienna, Ilka always rolled out the red carpet and treated them like they were friends of the family.

My family also adopted her and Peter. When they visited the U.S., they stayed with members of our extended family across the country. I drove them once from Minneapolis to Seattle on a memorable trip that included the Corn Palace in Mitchell, S.D., rainbows in the Black Hills, Mt. Rushmore and Geronimo, Western museums in Cody, Wyoming (“a thousand Winchesters!”), geysers, elk and buffalo at Yellowstone, and even the squalor of the Spokane Indian Reservation. When they saw the open expanse of I-90 sprawling as far as the eye could see, they gasped, in German, “Oh, what a huge street!” They loved Vashon.

The last time I saw Ilka was in northern Italy in 2000. Her husband Peter has visited recently

They taught me to love opera, which I’d always shrugged over before living in Vienna. Their favorite opera, Beethoven’s Fidelio, they’d seen scores of times.

After Ilka died, I invited Peter to the Seattle Opera production of Fidelio. We cried together as we wished Ilka were there. And then I saw the light. It’s in the window of my heart. “The key is in the light at the window.” I knew she was there.

(A version of this article appeared in the Vashon Island Beachcomber, December 2008.)

Open Studio time..

2008-12-14T21:21:00.001-08:00

Gordon's distinctive signs let people know this isn't just ANY old art studio

It’s a big deal around Soundcliff (our place) when the GRB Bells studio – which literally holds down the fort in our “garden level” – opens its doors and its larder to the public. This happens the first two weekends in May, and the first two weekends in December.

We spend a lot of time preparing the house, the garden, the bells and ourselves for the opening. And people usually appreciate the beauty and majesty of this place where we call home. Gordon has been making small jewelry-scale bells for 27 years, and casts them in silver, bronze and gold. I get to polish the more than 200 designs!

Gordon in his bell studio in the lower level of our house

This year of course we were worried about the economy and how it would impact bell sales. They weren’t as brisk as some years, but actually we were pleased (and so were some other artists we spoke with who were on the Vashon Island Art Studio Tour ).

The entrance to Gordon's studio on Sunday December 14, after a fairyland snow the night before

People were amazed to see the new This Is It bell, which isn’t yet in production but which has all 16 lines of James Broughton’s poem on it:

This is It
and I am It
and You are It
and so is That
and He is It
and She is It
and It is It
and That is That

O it is This
and it is Thus
and it is Them
and it is Us
and it is Now
and Here It is
and Here We are
so This is It

People fell in love with bells, and some people fell in love with this part of the Island, which has such spectacular views of Mount Tahoma (Rainier).

The Forge (my writing cottage, left) and Soundcliff in the snow; lots of people walk in because parking is limited

Despite being under the weather, Gordon was an expansive and gracious host. He put out an amazing spread including mulled cider, juices, coffee, scones, brownies, nuts, fruits, vegetables, chips and dip, truffles, cheese and crackers. On the second Saturday night, the Open Studio morphed into an Open House and a number of our friends joined us for a holiday party.

So yes, the season is in full flower, and the snow only made it more so!

The yurts under the walnut tree at Fiddle Home Farm, where Emily and Shane make and sell beeswax candles and Ukrainian painted eggs

The We to Be

2008-12-02T09:03:00.000-08:00

The kitchen resounds with creative anticipation as Doug Gosling puts finishing touches on the Mother Garden salad

Thanksgiving continues to be my favorite holiday, because it’s about gratitude and blessings, toasts and being with family and/or those you love most.

Our gathering at Soundcliff this year was slow, sweet, and amazingly delicious.

Our theme: The We To Be. Living the Future.

Our tradition includes a wonderful meal with courses brought by different guests, punctuated by poetry, beach walks, stories, and circles.

We had 11 for our repast, which began at 12:30 and went deep into the night.

Our first course included a quince paste with fromage blanc, lamb liver mouse, and goat cheese bruschetta with sun-dried tomatoes and roasted garlic.

Christopher Young chops rosemary while Whit Kimball shucks garlic as the meal takes shape, slowly and synergetically

Our soup was a mushroom delight – chantrelles and cauliflower mushrooms which Malcolm had foraged – in a light salmon broth. Local heaven.

The salad, from the Mother Garden at the Occidental Arts and Ecology Center, was a true work of art, complete with crostini and leek butter, baby carrots, beets, various kales, arugula, lettuces, tatsoi, rose petals, flowers from the Soundcliff garden, and dressed with a pineapple guava dressing. Doug Gosling always outdoes himself!

Gordon’s roasted brined turkey, cooked simply without stuffing, many said was the best they’d ever had. It was augmented by Christopher’s oven roasted vegetables and Mama Stamberg’s cranberry relish made and served with relish by Sequoia. Malcolm made rich gravy, and Michael Hathaway’s Brussels sprouts were so rich as to taste like foie gras (see recipe below).

Neil Robertson’s desserts, as always, were more than just. Having just won the prize for best restaurant dessert by Seattle Magazine for his chocolate upon chocolate special at Canlis, he decided to go “traditional” for Thanksgiving. That meant a deep dish apple pie that would have your mother’s mouth watering for weeks, a classic pumpkin pie with bourbon-whipped cream, and a pecan pie made with espresso and a hint of chocolate.

As part of our future theme, we celebrated the election of Obama in many ways. And the kickoff of the Big Joy Project, a celebration of James Broughton which includes a documentary which I'm producing. In honor of that, Michael Hathaway recited a poem he wrote for James at Eastertime, 1993:

SAP SONG

While admiring a white-and-cerise
blossoming Crabapple

for James Broughton

Here we are again, oh yes!, hear hear!
Oh Desirous! Oh God!
Oh light Love and oh bright Beauty!
Oh look where we are heading:
Oh yes, for Life again!
Be sweetly dazed and slightly dazzled:
Breeze me and sneeze me,
Waft me and small me,
Touch me and tell me: my petals, my bliss:
Don’t you just adore my special effects?!

Sprinkle picnics around me,
Weddings and prayers and trysts!
All hopes that rise,
and all fulfillments, all delights!

Doing our meticulous anabolizing work,
Transceiving the sun’s intents,
(which thus give form to ours),
We can only be Love Made Visible
again, now, so freshly, Oh Yes!!
And again, now, so freshly, Oh Yes!!

(more coming)

Michael Hathaway and Doug Gosling help prepare the traditional day-after-Thanksgiving evelskiver breakfast

It doesn't get much better than sunrise at Soundcliff!

Joy in the here is my chief engineer

2008-11-20T13:26:00.000-08:00

Poet and filmmaker James Broughton wrote a memoir of his first 65 or so years, Coming Unbuttoned. Now I'm working on the Big Joy Project, which will be a website and a film about his life and times, and the whole idea of living Big Joy.

Malcolm Dorn and Lee and Ann Katzenbach helped me kick off the project at James's gravesite in Port Townsend, where James lived the last 10 of his 85 years and became known to many as "poet laureate" of the sleepy mill town which once saw itself becoming the Seattle of the Northwest.

Malcolm reads from Broughton's "Packing Up for Paradise" as dog Chester Wallydoodle crouches in excitement and we sip champagne

Rocky Friedman, owner of the Rose Theatre, is also helping me with the project. He found the amazing filmmaker Ian Hinkle, who jumped in right away and filmed our opening ceremony.

Ian Hinkle films Malcolm Dorn lighting candles at James Broughton's gravesite

I'm so grateful for all the support I'm getting for the project so far. (Don't worry, I'll be making a pitch for funding soon.)

It's a new dawn, a new day, time to give thanks

"Adventure, Not Predicament" is the epitaph on James Broughton's phallic stone marker. And, this poem:

In the arms of lover I
lie in eternity
clutching the secret of holy excess

Joy in the here is
my chief engineer
over and unto and once upon Yes

Joy in the here is
the nature of nature
touching the habit of daily caress

in the arms of lover I
leap in eternity
over and unto and once again Yes

Angels and Ancestors

2008-11-10T08:43:00.000-08:00

Ten years ago I gave James Broughton this orchid for his 85th birthday. His life partner Joel Singer left it in our care; it hasn't stopped blooming

The Angels of Our Keeping

They are the keepers of our company
keeping us in touch keeping us in tune
They keep us widely awake to wonder
They are the keepers of our rash felicities

They keep love from growing decrepit
keep our limbs from going rickety
keep our hotblood from thinning out
They believe in the triumphs of the flesh

However beloved one day you may find
my parts scattered like those of Orpheus
my body dismembered by vexatious maenads
or literal-minded literati

Do not weep when you hold my shards
Put me back together one more time
as you have done many times before
and play my heartstrings in memory of our music

Even in my ashes even in my tomb
I shall be reconstituted by your love
thanks to our keepers who have kept us
metamorphosing in the marvelous

-- James Broughton

The yogic gardener Steven Shaun peers from behind James Broughton's gravestone at the cemetery in Port Townsend, WA, where he lived his last 10 years; if you click on the image you can read another poem, The Gardener of Eden

Today is James Broughton's birthday. He would have been 95.

For those who don't know, James Broughton (1913-1999) was a pioneer of experimental filmmaking, a central player in California’s creative beat scene, a bard of sensuality and spirituality, a preacher of Big Joy. (He called himself Big Joy in the last part of his life.)

Broughton was a poet in the tradition of Rumi, Hafiz, William Blake, Walt Whitman, and other ecstatic, Divine Trickster poets who trick, tempt, tease and seduce us into a direct, playful, and wondrous relationship with life, God, nature, and each other.

I was fortunate to have known James for the last 10 of his 85 years. And today, in Port Townsend, I'm formally kicking off The Big Joy Project, which will include a website, and film, and a biography of James. More to come on this, but if anyone feels moved to make a contribution to the project, it can be done through the White Crane Institute.

James and I 'mentored' each other: he asked for help with prose, I for help with poetry

Holding President Obama...

2008-11-05T05:31:00.000-08:00

President-Elect Barack Obama has set a high bar for himself, and for the country.

We need it. We deserve it.

Though it may be simplistic, this video outlines many reasons why Obama was elected.

Our story needs to shift – from greed to compassion, from conflict to cooperation, from me to we. And we’re shifting it. But it won’t be easy.

It’s our turn now.

We need to hold Obama to his promises, yes. But as Van Jones has so eloquently stated, we also need to hold him.

He’s only human. As his grandmother’s death on the eve of his election reminded us, life is as fragile as it is miraculous and strong.

I must say McCain's concession speech was classy: "Tonight — tonight, more than any night, I hold in my heart nothing but love for this country and for all its citizens, whether they supported me or Sen. Obama — whether they supported me or Sen. Obama.

"I wish Godspeed to the man who was my former opponent and will be my president. And I call on all Americans, as I have often in this campaign, to not despair of our present difficulties, but to believe, always, in the promise and greatness of America, because nothing is inevitable here."

We need to start living our new story. Whatever small steps we can take. It’s time.

Autumn scenes

2008-10-21T19:03:00.001-07:00

Sunrise at Rivercliff, looking over the St. Croix River at Minnesota on the other side. Forget the computer!

Two maples on the main drag in Osceola, Wisconsin

Brother Mark and Mother Helen and I spent a wonderful weekend at Rivercliff, Helen's house on the St. Croix River

Mark and I took a walk in the woods. It rained, so we called Helen on the cell and sang, "Singing in the Rain"

Maple leaves along the forest floor sang the reds, not the blues

The St. Croix River 40 years ago was declared a "Wild River" /"Scenic River"... you can no longer build within view of the river

And the very best news from Minnesota -- my nephew David is healing FAST and BEAUTIFULLY from his auto accident

Is there life after high school?

2008-10-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

Mary Carlson and I do an American Gothic harvest pose during a deadline break in the high school newspaper office, circa 1968

I guess there is, if my 40th high school reunion is any indication.

But there’s also death, and decay, and regeneration.

I was one of my high school’s storytellers, as editor of the high school newspaper. I don’t feel capable of telling the story now of all that’s happened to my 750 classmates. But the reunion sparked some great memories, rekindled a few friendships, and pointed up some black holes.

The former Edina High School is now an elementary school and administration building

I loved preparing by re-reading a number of the articles from the Edina High School Buzzette (yes, our team was the Hornets), paging through my yearbook, the Whigrean (yes, our colors were white and green), listening to music from 1968 (what’s the quintessential song – “Sargent Pepper,” “Mrs. Robinson,” “For What It’s Worth,” or “Get Together”?), and encouraging friends who I hadn’t seen for decades to join me at the reunion. (A few actually did.)

A number of my classmates – many still live in the Twin Cities area – organized the reunion, using a website and e-mails to round up as many as they could. About 160 people showed up, including spouses, to the Minnikahda Club, where we dined on pheasant mcnuggets (that’s what they called them!), paella, pizza, salmon, turkey sandwiches, and fancy salads. We lined up for photos – first the whole class, then those who had attended either of the two junior high schools and then those who went to the six elementary schools. I was struck by how many of us lived in Edina (known as the wealthy “cake-eating” suburb of Minneapolis) for our whole childhood.

Mary Carlson didn't come to the reunion, but the scrapbook she made in 1968 about our Buzzette adventures provided great laughs and memories

Our high school principal, Rollie Ring, was to have been present to sign copies of a book he’s written about his years at the school. But his son Roger, a classmate, said he didn’t feel well enough to join us. We were the last of his relatively tame classes – while we fought to abolish the dress code which required girls to wear skirts and allowed nobody to wear blue jeans, it wasn’t abolished until the following year. A couple years later, when my brother David was on the Buzzette staff, a student strike protested the Vietnam War.

Twin Cities musician Steve Sandberg joined Inga Quillama for some jolly moments at the 40th Edina High School reunion for the Class of 1968

A surprising number of people flew in from around the country. John – a lawyer-turned-yoga-instructor – was there from New Hampshire. Inga – an artist/nurse who was a stalwart member of our newspaper staff – came from California. Jody, my best female friend from high school, came from Berkeley with her husband Rich, who commented, “I think I’m the only person of color here!” whereupon I said, “you’re right -- and it seems I’m the only out gay person. Welcome to Edina. The only black person in our school was the African exchange student. But we did have a visit from the Harlem Globetrotters.”

And in fact, a number of us started a group called Come Open Your Eyes (COYE), the purpose of which was to educate ourselves and our community about African-American history and cultural issues. After the race riots of 1967 in Minneapolis, we went to visit black leaders in North Minneapolis, and asked, “What can we do to help?” They told us: “Go back to Edina, and educate your community.” So we did. We read and discussed Before the Mayflower and the Kerner Commission Report and other sources – and petitioned the school board to teach big missing pieces of American history (black, Native American, etc.). We canvassed and surveyed both students and parents about their attitudes (“How would you feel if your son or daughter dated a black person? If a Negro family moved in next door?”). We sponsored lectures by black cultural experts at our churches.

Fellow COYE and Tarantula Club members Anne Sivright and Jody Parsons joined me at the reunion; all of us came from out of town

Not many people were talking about this at the reunion. Much of it was meet-and-greet, catching up on where people lived and what they did. I was pleased, and somewhat surprised, that there were a large number of Obama supporters, mixed in with some McCain Republicans and many who were just fed up with the political process altogether. Eyes rolled about the economy.

A surprising number of our classmates have died – lost to cancer, accidents, AIDS, suicides, and other afflictions.

But others are doing amazing and interesting work – special education teachers, dancers, consultants helping to reinvent government, a priest working in Hispanic communities, conscious TV producers, nurses and storytellers. We danced to music from the 60’s – a lot of which surprisingly is still popular with today’s younger folk.

Some people agreed to stay in closer touch. Those teen connections are deep, but they don’t always translate into closeness after decades. Reunions can be fun; they can also remind you why you left.

Camping it up

2008-09-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

Evening canoeing on Puget Sound is one of my favorite parts of camp

Take a week away from worry
Worry for another’s scurry
Winging along crooked paths
Eating junk food, taking baths …

Try Camp Parkview
Sing a song
Pull a paddle
Right a wrong

Last month, my brother Mark and Gordon and I went to summer camp.

It wasn’t just any camp. It was a camp for adults with disabilities, celebrating its 25th year at the Baptist-owned Camp Burton grounds here on Vashon Island.

Every morning camp co-founder Nancy Trenbeth led the group in exploring what community means

For many years now, since the mid-1980’s, Mark and I have enjoyed being together in a cabin with other campers and counselors and doing all the things you do at summer camp – arts and crafts (tie-dyed shopping bags!), archery (Mark got 4 bullseyes!), canoeing, swimming, and telling ghost stories.

Gordon and Carl Fox try on being a pig and a dog, thanks to Jennifer Burris's hats

Since Gordon came into my life, he’s joined us and has become one of the most popular counselors at the camp.

Annie (left) brought her good friend Maryann, who livened up this year's camp

What I love about Camp Parkview is taking a week away from my reality and getting into the rhythms of nature with a group of special people (aged 18 – 60something) for whom loving and eating are their primary foci. For many of them, camp is the highlight of their year.

Steve Jarvis always says "I want to go home." We imagine at his group home, he says, "I want to go to camp."

We danced a lot. In fact, the canoeing sessions often turned into dance-a-thons with campers rocking out on the beach.

Dancing to a live surf band at Grisham Hall is a favorite for many campers (and counselors)

My favorite moment is when we’re out in canoes with campers enjoying the smells of the water, reflecting on the day, hearing birds and belches after dinner.

Storyteller Merna Hecht brought the "Theater of the Beautiful Faces" to this year's camp. Chelsea helps hold the curtain.

It’s also fun to work with a truly intergenerational group of counselors (we had a great ratio this year – in our cabin, 4 counselors and 6 campers), many of whom spend their vacations volunteering at camp even though they work with special-needs populations all year long.

Anthony warms up for the Star Spangled Banner

The talent show on the last night is often a kick. This year, it started with longtime camper David DiJulio singing the Star Spangled Banner, while Anthony, in an American flag shirt, waved and danced around the stage. Mark played Jim Morrison of The Doors. He did a rollicking version of “Light My Fire,” with backup dancers Gordon (rubbing sticks together), Jennifer (lighting a match), camp co-founder John Holliday (flicking a Bic), and myself (lighting a longer lighting torch) singing along.

Mark Silha practices his best Jim Morrison imitation on the deck at Soundcliff

Camp, indeed!

Stairway to ... ?

2008-08-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

Climb with me to the stars... aloft to the loft... where dreams coalesce...

It’s so important to think about where we need to go, and how best to get there.

For about a year, since the Forge (my writing cottage) was completed, we’ve needed a good way to get to the sleeping loft, the “treehouse” level, where a memory-foam mattress provides one of the best sleeping places in these parts.

Gordon has designed most of the Forge building itself, so he’s been thinking about this cosmic elevator for a long time. Built-in wall steps? A notched log? Fold-out stairs? A ladder? Ah…

The ladder stores elegantly against the wall, so the door to the mudroom can open

Our friend Hans Nelsen, a renowned woodworker and artist, saw Gordon’s drawings of a possible ladder, and made it real. Now there’s an easy ascent to the sleeping / napping / dreaming level.

A nap in the middle of writing? Why not?

The ladder bows in and out, and gives your climbing feet a sound massage with its cherry rungs, as your hands cling to its Douglas fir rails. It’s sleek, comfortable, graceful.

Even when not in use, it invites elevated thoughts...

Javier Sanchez, visiting from Mexico, was the first to use it to sleep in the loft.

And now the Forge feels more complete, even though there are a few more details to finish. So … no excuses not to write!

Thanks to coaching from my friend Ruth Ozeki, I’ve embarked on a daily discipline which will help me ascend beyond my own fears and into the realms of better sense-making and communication. No phone or e-mail in the morning! Instead, forging words, ideas, images.

Luminaria

2008-08-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

A spontaneous parade moves through -- becomes -- the crowd at Victoria's Luminara Festival

Summer’s going too fast – I can’t believe they’re closing the Vashon swimming pool early because there’s not enough evening light, starting today. But there are other ways to bring light to our world. (Last night’s rare Northwest heat lightning show was one impressive manifestation.)

Amazing what can happen when a community pulls together its creative sparks

While traveling through Victoria, B.C. on our way to a wonderful summer gathering at Hollyhock Retreat Center, Gordon and I happened upon the city’s annual Luminara Festival.

Light drummers add visual beats to a pulsing summer night

Wow, it’s like Halloween in midsummer!

A light bear searches for light salmon...and finds them

There were gremlins and robots and Bucky Balls (soccer balls made as geodesic spheres) and drummers, fairy princesses and bears and wishing walls and fire dancers.

Reflect on this: What dragons are you facing, and how well are you facing them?

Families and performances, Magic Lanterns and spontaneous parades. It reminded me of the importance of ritual, creative expression, and humor in our daily lives.

You never know who's going to show up when you call a summer luminaria party!

The power of prayer

2008-07-15T23:31:00.000-07:00

What a year for foxgloves! The wonders of nature inspire confidence in miracles

I’m convinced that prayer is a most powerful force for healing, dealing, and figuring things out.

This has been most evident recently in my nephew David Silha Reimann’s ongoing recovery from the “terrorist accident” he was in over Memorial Day weekend. He’s astounding the doctors as he body heals quickly – though maybe not as quickly as he would want. The prayers and good wishes have helped speed his miraculous healing.

Yesterday he went home for the first time to celebrate the birthday of his sister Sarah, his best friend and often “scribe” on the wonderful Caring Bridge website, keeping us updated on his daily progress.

Having grown up in (and still being a student of) Christian Science, I recall Mary Baker Eddy’s definition of prayer as the constant desire for growth in grace, expressed in patience, meekness, and good deeds.

Grace. Something David is experiencing, as I am, too.

Many thanks to all who have prayed for and thought about David. In all ways, all traditions. I know it’s helping.

Terrors

2008-05-31T10:23:00.000-07:00

There's gold at the end of the rainbow (this from our deck), but the process of finding it can be chilling

My nephew was in a terrorist auto accident Saturday night, and he's been in a coma since then. (I call it a terrorist accident because he was driving at night on a small country road in Wisconsin when a pickup truck suddenly rounded the curve in his lane and ran into him. Terror. The driver of the pickup died.) I’m on my way to Minneapolis right now to be with him and my family.

On Wednesday, one of our “godsons” came by, to help cut some limbs off trees to better sculpt our garden and let more light in ... I went out with Josiah to the edge of our cliff, where a tree holding a cliff together is about to topple to the beach ... I asked him to cut the dead main tree so that the child could survive and continue to hold the cliff.

At the edge of the cliff was a ledge, and on the ledge was an alder tree, intertwined with the oldest-growth Indian Plum either of us had ever seen. And bound around with blackberry vines. And blackberry canes. And jungley growth.

He walked out on the gnarly tree. He cut the berry vines and honored the Indian Plum. He was suspended 55 feet above the beach. He was balancing on the Indian plum vines. His body had no hesitation. He was up to the task.

He took the chainsaw from me, and carried it out as he balanced on the horizontal "plank" of the tree so he could cut off the dead larger trunk and lighten the load for the roots.

He navigated the light, bouncy, woody stems of the Indian Plum as they wove making love around the plank of the alder tree. It seemed he -- and the tree -- were constantly one degree away from being 55 feet below, on the rocky beach. I was in awe of Josiah. He was Angel Boy / Earth Boy / Logger Boy. He was sawing up from under the nearly horizontal tree, first. His saw bound. "God-dammit!" he said from the edge of the precipice. There was smoke. He tried to vibrate it out. The whole diving board seemed to shake. He edged it out. I prayed.

As he started to cut from the top, "CRACK" -- "SHOT" -- the roots seemed to shake and a shot rang out that sounded like a gun. The tree plunged to the beach.

When he got back to solid ground, we hugged. My nephew had just been in a horrible accident, and I couldn't imagine another.

Now our cliff will likely stay intact for years longer, as a result of Josiah's arborial prowess.

**
As often, I'm out on the edge of the cliff.

Media That Matters

2008-05-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

Bill Weaver plans the Media That Matters gathering from the edge of his property on Desolation Sound on the east shore of Cortes Island

One of my favorite weeks each year (for the last 7 years) is this mid-May time, when spring is breaking and chartreuse leaves pop out in the middle of dark green Northwest forests. What makes it amazing for me is the opportunity to go to Cortes Island in British Columbia, Canada – to help facilitate a workshop called Media That Matters.

Media That Matters was created by a brilliant documentary maker, Bill Weaver (a Southern boy who did a stint in TV news in Portland, OR before becoming Canadian). Bill wanted to get media makers away from the “flickering screens” that become our lives and into the woods on one of the most beautiful places on the planet – to learn, work, dream, and play together.

Media That Matters is an invitational retreat which attracts journalists, filmmakers, web designers, novelists, academics, community organizers, and new media mavens. It’s always different, depending on who shows up. And depending on how open we all are to the astounding beauty of this place. The silences are even moreso (than Vashon Island or other places I’ve been). The birdsong (killdeer, wren, robin, oystercatcher, etc.) echoes across the water. Waves lap gently. Oyster beds abound. And the invitation to go inside and pay attention to inner voices resounds.

So this morning, my friend John Holliday drove me to the north end of Lake Washington, where I got on a floatplane and watched the water-dominated landscape of Seattle disappear as we made our way up past Whidbey Island and Port Townsend (paper mill pumping), past the San Juan Islands, across the Strait of Juan de Fuca and over Victoria, past the Gulf Islands to Nanaimo .

After a quick customs check (“do you have a work permit?” “no”), we flew over the Strait of Georgia, over many islands, BC ferry boats, forests, clearings, and limestone mines, to Cortes, where the Hollyhock Retreat Center is our Media That Matters home.

It’s always hard to get away from my routine, but when I do, I realize how important this is. I always have new insights here. I so look forward to this week. Deep breath.

New News Ecology

2008-05-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

We mapped how a story gets written, edited, and distributed in the 'old' model 20th-century newsroom

I haven’t blogged about it much, but for me, this is the Season of the Journalism Conference.

I just returned from my first of three: Journalism That Matters: NewsTools 2008. It was a great gathering of nearly 200 journalists, technologists, educators, activists and bloggers – held at the Yahoo! Corporate headquarters in California’s Silicon Valley. (What a time to be at Yahoo!)

We kicked it off in URL’s Café (get it? Eat at URL’s!) – with a skit about old journalism (an intrepid newspaperman) encountering new, technology laden journalism (a Twittering young idealist). In order to create a common language between the “old” newsroom, and the 21st century “news ecology,” we prepared a map that drew out the roles and the values values (both tangible and intangible) involved in the process of getting a story out to an audience in the 20th Century.

Then we began to map the roles that might exist in the future. The experiment worked. While not everybody agreed about the new map -- in fact we began to identify lots of new roles that are developing – we had a great three-day “mashup” in which lots of new ideas were hatched, and lots of important connections were made between fascinating and diverse folks.

Next week, I’m off to Media That Matters at Hollyhock Retreat Center on Cortes Island in British Columbia, Canada – one of the true beauty spots on the planet. We’ll be exploring “Art, Story and Social Change.”

Then, on June 4-6, we’ll be at the University of Minnesota for another Journalism That Matters gathering called “A Passion for Place: New Pamphleteers/New Reporters: Convening Entrepreneurs Who Combine Journalism, Democracy, Place and Blogs.”

Hopefully, we're creating a new news ecology where truth, fairness, verification, and watchdog journalism can survive and thrive, even as new voices emerge as important storytellers in this turbulent time.

The emerging ecology takes the old roles of editor, reporter, and audience and converts them to sense-maker, beat blogger, and community.

Spring morning

2008-04-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

The deck to the Forge, looking out at a beautiful banner made by my friend Ti/Cat

Most of these posts come from the Forge – my writing cottage just steps from the house. That’s why this blog is called “Notes from the Forge.” It’s a place where ideas, words, images, and inspiration forge together into things of beauty (or that’s the goal!)… This morning, these lines came out:

To counter the blues
I turn on the news --
Some folks have it much worse than I
Why turn to vermouth
When you can get truth
All covered with soundbits and lies?

The Forge's tiny desk works for journals, paper, laptop... and it wheels to the deck outside, the window view, or a blank white wall

Doggerel? Well, maybe, but that reminds me 'caterel'-- of our cat, Gertie Girl, who passed on last September. I miss her. I keep thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye. She provided a grounding for most of the time I’ve lived in this house – 18 years now.

Gertie Girl, who with her brother, Bert (aka Betty) Boy, watched over Soundcliff for nearly 18 years -- even during a remodel that demolished most of the house

The house looks pretty darn good on a spring morning like this, especially after we’ve had multiple instances of SNOW the past four days! (None of it stuck, but it’s been damn cold.) The clear blue sky only lasted a few hours, then clouds rolled in, and by afternoon it was raining that misty northwest rain that sometimes goes on for days.

April is the cruelest month? This year, it’s been pretty cruel, weather-wise. But there’s always another morning -- a sun salutation on the deck, coffee and meditation in the Forge, a chance, on some level, to start over.

It doesn't get much better than Soundcliff on a spring morning-- Happy Earth Day!

Seeding compassion with the Dalai Lama

2008-04-14T19:24:00.000-07:00

Practicing presence: The Dalai Lama listens intently, asks good questions, radiates love. P-I photo by Dan DeLong

This weekend Seattle hosted not only the Lost Angeles Angels baseball team (a mixed bag for those Mariners) but the Green Festival and – most auspicious – the Dalai Lama, a model for new leadership in our time.

On Friday I joined thousands of others at one of many events in which the Dalai Lama has enthusiastically participated -- part of a project called Seeds of Compassion.

My first response to the event I attended: profound disappointment in our lack of ability (or will) to engage with each other. Here were tens of thousands of intelligent, caring people in a sports arena. There to learn about compassion from a man who practices it beautifully. (Indeed, just being in the same space with him is a treat and a privilege.)

But despite one question from a speaker asking us to “think about what you can do” to foster compassion, there were NO opportunities for dialogue with each other. No “turn to the person next to you and tell about how compassion has played a role in your life,” or anything like that. It felt like a waste of potential learning and energy.

Plus, with the panel of mostly white experts on children, families and compassion, we and the Dalai Lama spent a good 20 minutes of the two-hour session looking together at videos of the panelists, made to bring alive what they do. It didn’t seem like the best use of our time. (Though I’m sure it makes good television – and the sessions are available to the world for viewing.)

The other sad part was that some of Seattle’s best facilitators and spiritual practitioners were waiting on Sunday afternoon to work with small groups to go deeper into the subject of compassion – but very few people showed up. The main reason: These sessions were not mentioned at the large events!

You can see some good, dynamic coverage of the Dalai Lama’s visit at the Seattle Times website. And you can read in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer about his amazing press conference. Talk about transparency! This guy lights up the room.

How many spiritual teachers do you know who basically say, “Don’t believe anything you hear until you test it for yourself. Analyze!”

When asked a question, he'd often give an eloquent answer and then say, "I don't know. What do you think?"

Breakfast Club

2008-04-12T08:13:00.000-07:00

At a recent Breakfast Club session in Seattle, topics ranged from polyamory to the end of the world (as we know it)

Despite my being a futurist, traditions are important to me. As long as they’re useful.

One useful tradition is a periodic Breakfast Club -- which has been meeting in various Seattle locations since the early 1990’s. A group of us, who probably wouldn’t otherwise see each other, get together to gab about things that are important to us -- personally, professionally, globally, spiritually.

These check-ins have come to mean a lot. Sometimes we have a theme, such as ‘what are your wishes for the new year’ or ‘what’s the flame that’s burning inside you’? Other times, we just see what happens.

The point is to connect with each other about 10 times a year with the intention of connecting our inner lives with the outer. We’ve shared triumphs and tribulations, celebrated anniversaries and milestones, mourned passings. We’ve linked each other with needed resources – most recently a network of cancer care professionals. Another member has found potential interviewees for a documentary film on polyamory.

And our group’s not ingrown. We often host guests, and invite new members. The format’s simple: each person gets an opportunity to ‘check in’ with whatever’s up for them, both inside and in the world.

At a Breakfast Club session in 2003, we had two out-of-town guests--my mother Helen, and Sophia Bracy Harris, an early childhood advocate from Alabama and mentor to Andrea Rabinowitz (r)

Each month we weave a tapestry of insight, humor, reality, love. It’s a good tradition.

Hel(en)'s Bells

2008-04-07T22:55:00.000-07:00

My brother Mark, mother Helen and I spent a glorious Easter weekend together in Florida

Spring is in the air!

And my brother Mark and I visited our mother, Helen Silha, in Florida while it snowed and sleeted where we live (he in Minnesota, I near Seattle).

Even though my partner Gordon Barnett chose to stay home to work on creating new bells, Helen asked me to bring a bunch of his bells so she could show them to her friends and neighbors. It's become a tradition to have a spring "bell showing" at her condo on Longboat Key, near Sarasota on the west coast of Florida.

This year I brought quite a few of Gordon's 200+ designs, cast in silver ...

Mark enjoys the people as much as the bells -- as he checks out the sterling silver bells on the dining table

... gold ...

Helen oogles the 14K gold bells on the sideboard above her TV, an original piece of furniture from the 1980's when the condo was built

... and bronze.

Despite a very rainy day, the light was best on the lanai, where I checked out the bronze bells

We enjoyed a great Easter dinner of ham, sweet potatoes, asparagus, and key lime pie with Helen's church friends Dottie and Gladys, and then Mark and I headed to the beach.

Dottie, Helen and Gladys hung out at the condo while Mark and I swam in the Gulf of Mexico

Mark loves to swim in the ocean, and so do I. We didn't get in as much as we would have liked -- but we did take a glorious Easter dip, and as Mark says, "next year!"

Mark contemplates a sand-sculpture sphinx before jumping in the surf (or is that really Elvis?)

We also had a great time at the Selby Gardens in Sarasota, amazed at the orchids, bromeliads, and Buddhas.

Koi ponds, tropical gardens, and great views of Sarasota Bay made it a great place for Mark and me to climb trees and clown around

And since I was born on Easter weekend in 1950, it was great to spend Easter with Helen. Actually, any time with Helen is golden.

One of the 6,000 orchids at Marie Selby Botanical Garden in Sarasota -- don't ask me the name!

And, for those who'd like to see the bells in person, I highly recommend the Vashon Island Artists Open Studio Tour, happening May 3-4 and 10-11!

The South of France

2008-03-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

The stunning view from Rob and Patti's farmhouse on 100 acres among vineyards in the Lot River valley

Gordon and I have often fantasized about living in “the South of France.” Last month we landed there. Visiting.

Rob, Gordon and Patti check out brussel sprouts at a local market -- which Patti makes into an elegant dish for dinner

And fantastic it was. Here’s what I wrote while there (and meant to post to the blog, but I got so delightedly lethargic, it never happened):

Patti and I enjoy conversation and coffee at a restaurant where most others are eating Beef Bourgignon

Our friends the Beebes – Rob and Patti – have lived here for a number of years from September through May. They and their dog, Wombat, have made quite an impression on the locals. They’re living on a 100-acre working farm – complete with cows, chickens, vineyards, fruit trees. They’re studying French; Rob is already quite proficient.

Wombat mugs (sort of) in front of a dog fountain in Cahors, the nearest 'big town' to where the Beebes live

It seems about as far from Paris as you can get. The Lot River valley. A river that squiggles through oak forests and vineyards. The wine is dark and earthy.

Wombat never tires of playing ball -- and we never tire of taking walks

It’s a great place to decompress from recent busyness. The landscape is conducive to quiet meditations. Daffodils, peach trees and forsythia are in bloom.

The weather, however, is not much different from that in Seattle. So it makes the dream of living in the South of France a bit less compelling. Still…

Being here conjures up memories of romantic times in Southern France when I was in my 20’s – making onion soup and munching hard-crusted soft-eggy bread, at a time when it seemed anything was possible. Being joined by my first partner, and exploring the mysteries of ecstatic talks punctuated by soul kissing. Taking walks among cows and getting lost. Being amazed that people shut their shutters each night, sealing their houses from light. (This still happens!)

Gordon and Catie upon their reunion in Limoges. She took us out for coffee -- and wouldn't let us pay ("You were invited!" .. very European)

Then we took a two-hour train ride to Limoges, where our friend Catie (Gordon’s high school prom date when she was an exchange student in Colby, Kansas) and her partner Jacques live in ancient houses across the street (route de la Coulees Vertes) from each other. It makes such a difference when you visit friends while traveling!

Catie lives in an ancient Auberge (restaurant) built in 1742...

... and Jacques lives in this fabulous house across the street, which was a ruin when we visited them in 2001!

We continued our decompression with them in Montrol Senard, a town so small (pop. 230) it doesn’t appear on any maps I’ve seen. Both Catie and Jacques cooked for us, and we took walks and jogs and soaked in wonderful scenery.

Jacques presented Gordon with a French knife (oops... don't tell Homeland Security!)

Jacques topped off a luscious salmon dinner with bananas flambee -- which touched my heart and stomach

The South of France continues to be a wonderful fantasy – and reality!

The view from Catie's kitchen is charming -- I dream of summer barbeques in the back yard (which we experienced on our first visit in 2001)

Ah! Civilization!

2008-02-29T06:31:00.000-08:00

I can't resist some of the world's best coffee amidst some of the world's best people-watching

A Sunday in Paris is one of life’s great treasures for those of us lucky enough to experience one.

And we did last Sunday – a sunny Sunday at that. Our first in France since 2001. Parisians, usually relaxed, are even more so on Sundays. They slowly take in the sights. They stare into each other's eyes. They love being alive.

Lots of Parisians get around on the new "velibes," municipal bicycles anyone can use for a small fee at any time anywhere

Gordon and I had arrived early in the morning after a long plane journey via Toronto. Our luggage didn’t make it, so we were pleasantly free to move without burden (for 1.5 days, until the bags were finally delivered to the hotel, just before we were about to leave!). After groggily negotiating the train from Charles DeGaulle Airport into the city (Place de la Bastille), we discovered our hotel room wouldn’t be ready until noon. So we ventured out on Rue St. Antoine for a morning constitutional.

We walked through the nearby Place des Vosges, one of the world’s great urban squares, and found our way to a restaurant where we had delicious coffee, ham omelettes, juice and toast. I won’t tell you how much it cost – let’s just say the Euro costs $1.60+ and things in Paris are already expensive. Gulp.

Still, you could immediately feel the Sunday Paris vibe – people feeling totally present, taking in the sunshine (even though it was cold outside). Some were sitting outside under sunlamps at cafes, so they could smoke. (The no-smoking-inside law just took effect here very recently.) Birds were singing. People were staring at each other – or into the blue sky above, or at the amazing architecture, or the budding trees. Discussing art, nature, philosophy. We breathed a sigh of wow – so good to be here.

Once in our hotel, we were able to take the Nancy Reagan cure for jet-lag: a long, hot bath (accompanied by drinking lots of water). It was tempting to take a nap, but the experts say you should force yourself to get on the new time schedule (9 hours different from Seattle) by staying awake until evening. We were glad we did.

Some sort of roller-marathon got thousands of people rockin' and rollin'

As we walked out into the sunny afternoon, we encountered an amazing demonstration – roller heaven! There were hundreds – no, thousands – of roller bladders and roller skaters speeding, sauntering, rolling along the Rue St. Antoine toward the Rue de Rivoli. What a parade of humanity – all ages, sizes, colors – all joyous and sprouting like the shoots of spring coming out of the ground.

We passed a free public toilet – imagine that! – along the way and wondered why facilities are so few and far between in the States.

Expansive public spaces incorporate such amenities as free toilets... ah, there's a line!

We walked by pastry shops and marveled at the sweet works of art.

OK, Neil, you'll have to fill in the blanks here-- what are we looking at?

And there was even a tanning salon. No, thanks, we’re enjoying the natural rays.

Many Paris buildings have incorporated older ceramics and architectural elements into whatever new enterprises are there

In the Metro station, a string ensemble played music that you’d pay to hear in music halls around the States.

It sounds better than it looks -- Vivaldi, anyone?

We went to the Cluny Museum, also known as the Museum of the Middle Ages, and took in some astounding pieces of art, stones, paintings, carvings, and Roman baths.

Pagan meets Christian meets mythological tour-de-force...the Cluny has it all! (Watch out for that unicorn)

Then we wandered around and had another cup of coffee.

Gordon is often tense until he gets to the destination...then it's as though he's always been here!

Eventually, we made our way to dinner at Le Petit Prince de Paris, a fabulous restaurant (recommended by our friend Susan Clampitt) which welcomed us like long lost friends even though we had never been there before. The food was one delight after another – a flan made with zucchini and scallops, salad with smoked duck breast and foie gras (sorry, Chicago!), monkfish with carrots and a potato-turnip puree, lamb with fried beets and carrot curry, a scalloped-potato pie (compliments of the house), and espresso with chocolate and almond (which did not keep us awake).

OK, this is why we are here. And the people, despite all the publicity, are very friendly. It helps to at least try to speak French. But a surprising number speak English, too.

Ah, civilization!

We're always looking up in this amazing city... but then you may miss some great street life!

Youth-Adult Dialogue

2008-02-27T00:58:00.000-08:00

Youth fishbowl discussion is focus of Youth-Adult Dialogue. Stones in center bowl represent memory & intentions for the future

We recently held our 12th in a series of dialogues on Vashon Island, where I live. Nearly 80 of us showed up for a free chili and cornbread dinner and some “deep dish” on a tough subject: “DO NOT GO GENTLE: Facing the Challenges of the Future.”

The dialogues were initiated in 2004 by the Vashon Youth Council after the strangling death of 17-year-old Sharna Jones by her father, who later killed himself. “Enough,” said the teens at the Youth Council who had witnessed a similar dialogue on Whidbey Island facilitated by my friends from the Power of Hope. “We’ve got to improve communication between generations on this Island.”

And I think we’ve made a great start. Topics have ranged from drugs & alcohol, safe ways to mark endings and transitions, and gender stereotypes to finding right livelihood and this year’s theme of shifting the culture of fear. Both kids and adults have reported being able to talk about previously taboo topics as a result of these community conversations.

At this month’s dialogue, over dinner, intergenerational groups discussed two questions: What do you see as the biggest challenges of the future? What are your strategies for addressing them?

Then youth and adult facilitators had us stand on either side of a line that represented various divides or challenges in life – youth on one side, adults on the other. Then various challenges identified by the table discussions were read out – global warming, political divisiveness, racism, economic meltdowns, getting into the college of choice – and people were asked to “cross the line” if they saw this as a significant challenge.

Then we formed a large circle, where storyteller and mythologist Michael Meade drummed and invited us to sing before he told an Asian story, “The Tiger’s Whisker,” about a woman facing her biggest challenge, and the patient simple ways she dealt with it. Halfway through the story, Michael stopped and asked us to find someone from another generation with whom to discuss our own fears. Those pairs then got together with others to identify common themes.

Out of those conversations came some general questions and insights: Why do adults view young people with suspicion and vice versa? Are there commonalities between adults facing death and youth facing economic and personal relationship issues? What slow steps can each of us take to face our demons, personally and collectively? The second half of Meade’s story echoed a number of themes we discussed.

A centerpiece of these dialogues is always a “youth fishbowl,” where the youth talk among themselves in the middle of a circle and adults just listen. Then we open the dialogue up for anybody to talk, and ask people to reflect on how this communication might change the way we relate to each other in the future.

For a youth perspective on this dialogue, check out Sierra Saunders’ article in the Vashon High School newspaper, The Riptide. And look at this video made by the talented 23-year-old Freddy Rhoads.

Broken cups

2008-02-14T22:58:00.000-08:00

Two steadfast coffee cups, morning companions for years, shattered recently

How strange that each of us lost our favorite coffee mug in one week!

They each crashed to the kitchen floor, separately, by accident.

Or was it an accident? Is it time to change containers? Reevaluate vessels? Rehabituate?

And all in Valentine’s season – what is it we really love? Is it the object, the idea, or the function? Is it the feel of a shape on our skin or an idea in our heads?

As the poet Rumi suggests:

Let the beauty you love
Be what you do

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground

Well, Gordon has a second copy of the Hotel Palace cup I got in Prague on my 40th birthday trip.

And I … I get to use another cup given to me by my friends Peter + Trudy, on the days I’m not using the wonderful one Malcolm gave me with such love not long ago.

We’re re-cupped. In love. And lucky to be able to drink coffee each morning.

Coffee may not taste quite the same from these cups...but it still tastes good.

Decision 2008

2008-02-11T15:50:00.000-08:00

Is 'liberty awakening'? Painting by Seth Primcky

One question has haunted me in recent years: What does it mean to be a citizen, one of "we the people," in the U.S. today?

There are probably thousands of bloggers blogging about the runup to the elections, which have been ramped up and oversimplified by media for over a year now. I hope blogs will help with the public discourse.

Saturday I went to my Democratic caucuses for the second time – and this year even more people were there exercising their role as citizens. I was delighted to see so many young people, some even volunteering to be delegates.

My precinct recorded some 58 favoring Obama, 14 with Hillary, and 2 undecided.

Four years ago, this was my report from the 2004 caucuses:

What is it to be a citizen in the US today? I went to my Democratic caucus to find out.

In this strange time of living with complexity and discomfort – with a president who was not elected by a majority of the people, waging a war against a multi-faced, non-geographical enemy, a time where truth and news seem to have filed for a divorce – many of my fellow citizens also felt drawn to the caucus for the first time. In fact, nearly 900 of us flooded into the Vashon High School Commons.

There was a sense of excitement, of desperation, of belonging. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years; I saw neighbors I didn’t know existed. We were a little embarrassed that almost nobody really knew the rules, though we gradually figured it out. The experience was chaotic, puzzling. Why is it so hard to be a citizen?

We were asked to sign in twice – once on the master roll, and once on our precinct roll, where we were asked to declare for one of the candidates: Clark, Dean, Edwards, Kerry, Kucinich, or Sharpton. Or, it was OK to write “uncommitted.” Which is what I did.

A year ago, I felt strongly attracted to the ideas of Dennis Kucinich – whose plans for health care, education, defense, and a cabinet-level Department of Peace sounded refreshingly relevant and embodied the shift I feel is needed in many aspects of our culture. I also have watched the campaign of Howard Dean, and even sent him some money (a practice of citizenship which I question, especially since it usually goes to either paying for television ads over the airwaves that we the people own, or to soliciting me for more funds). I was excited by his hands-on experience in Vermont with everything from early childhood education to health care for all to civil unions for same-sex couples. The youthful energy of the Dean campaign – and the creative use of the Internet both to raise money and exchange ideas – seemed destined to breathe new life into the much-needed process of reinventing democracy for these times.

I’ve also admired John Kerry since my early days as a reporter when I was living in Boston and watched the highly decorated officer return from battle in Vietnam, only to fight against the war that he had just been fighting. His energy and intelligence seemed hopeful, and my journalistic colleagues sensed in him a future leader.

But today, in this early stage of the campaign, I wanted to register my support for the ideas of Kucinich, the zest and practicality of Dean, the record and electability (?) of Kerry, the refreshing honesty of Sharpton, and yet I also wanted to weigh in against back-room traditional corporate-driven party politics, where these days the Republicans and the Democrats are indistinguishable. Several people I admire, who have been ardent caucus-goers and political organizers in our community, were urging us to send delegates to the district and state conventions “uncommitted.” The reasons: to provide more flexibility and excitement, to register the perspective that any of these candidates could be good, but in the rough-and-tumble political process, and to leave Republicans guessing who the candidate will be.

In our precinct, we had people signing in for Edwards, Kerry, Dean, Kucinich. I didn’t see any Clark or Sharpton votes. As we all sat – or mostly stood – in the high school, one person was invited to speak for no more than three minutes on behalf of each of the candidates. When nobody was there to speak for John Edwards, a woman made her way to the microphone and spoke of his common-sense practicality. “I feel he speaks for me when he talks,” she said. No one spoke for Sharpton, who, of all the candidates, several friends said they’d rather have dinner with.

After the opening speeches, our precincts were to discuss the candidates, choose representatives to the district and state conventions, and consider any platform resolutions that people might want to bring to the table. There was so much din in the room that another precinct came to the area next to our table, and we needed to go out in the hall to hear each other.

We divided into subgroups of those supporting Dean, Kerry, and Kucinich. But since there were 50 of us there, the rules said you needed at least 15% in order to get a delegate for that candidate. The Kerry group was two shy of 8, the uncommitted group had 11, at first, and Dean and Kuchinich both had large followings. After much confusion, and several people moving back and forth to different groups, Kerry and Kucinich supporters lobbying the uncommitted group to help them get enough for two delegates, we learned that our precinct gets five delegages to the district caucuses and and state convention.

Ultimately, we used a formula that was supplied to the Precinct Chair, and we got: 2 delegates for Kucinich, 2 for Dean, and 1 uncommitted. Then we needed to choose who from among us would be the delegates and the alternates. Wow! There were those who really wanted to go, and the rest of us deferred to them. One guy couldn’t go on the date of the next meeting, May 10, so he asked if I would go in his place. It was a date that wouldn’t work for me, but it did make me think: what are my priorities? What would it be like?

(A friend told me he had gone to the caucuses in 1992 in order to put in a word for Jerry Brown – only to discover that most of Vashon Island supported Jerry Brown that year. He became a delegate, and said that after the precinct caucuses he felt the other levels didn’t really offer a place for many voices, that he became cynical about party politics as a result of that experience. Now he has children and he’s less likely to be able to go.)

After the delegates were chosen, our precinct regathered at the original table and read some proposed platform planks and resolution. One involved salmon habitat protection, and another proposed to reduce the number of delegates to the state convention which could be chosen by the elected representatives to the U.S. Congress. (It was said that they could choose up to 40% of those delegates, which seems anti-democratic.) The proposal was to limit the appointed delegates to 13%.

Then the entire group got back together, without as many people present, and other resolutions were read, including: adopt a single-payer health care system, don’t allow corporations the same legal rights as individuals, do a better job with sex education, including education about sexuality and sexual orientation. When the precinct delegates were added up, there were a majority of delegates for Dean, and slightly less for Kerry, quite a few for Kucinich, and one or two for Edwards and Clark.

The next day, President Bush was interviewed on Meet the Press by Tim Russert, who asked him about his military service, his tax cuts, his flinging us into war in Iraq. “Oh, that’s just political,” he kept saying of those who criticized him. Political? Yes! But it’s a political year. I talked politics with my neighbors for a few hours yesterday—for the first time. Political seems important at this time. And political can be truth. Can’t it?
**

This year, it seems, there’s a big difference: people from various viewpoints are rallying behind the inspirational leadership of Obama. One guy said he was even more inspired by Michelle Obama than by her husband Barack. The caucus process seemed both simpler and more chaotic this year, probably because of the throngs.

Our caucus has spoken. Let’s see what happens.

Farewell, Washington News Council/ Long live News Councils!

2008-01-27T23:55:00.000-08:00

At the annual Gridiron West Dinner in November, 2007, the Washington News Council "toasted" Jill and Bill Ruckleshaus

My dad helped create the Minnesota News Council, one of the first in the U.S. of an important "third space" for media and community members to communicate about fairness and accuracy in media. For three years, I served as president of the Washington News Council, the fourth such body in the U.S. and an important forum for media fairness.

This weekend, I said goodbye to that board--a great group of people from across the state, half with media connections and expertise, and half with rich experience in public and civic affairs.

Here are my notes on what I said to them:

The Washington News Council: What’s possible now?

My major learning (or relearning): It’s hard to create a mediating institution in a polarized world.

It’s amazing that the News Council has made it through 10 years. My hat’s off to John Hamer, without whose daily dogged pursuit of fairness and accuracy in media we wouldn’t be here.

Working with John has been exciting, exhausting, sometimes challenging. But, as one of you said when I was working on John’s evaluation last year, there aren’t many people on the planet so dedicated to media transparency and accountability, and doing something constructive and creative about it daily.

Highlights of my years with the News Council:
• the hearings: every time we have one, it demonstrates the importance of improving communication about the way media work
• the forum in Spokane on coverage of Mayor Jim West: We demonstrated how an outside agency can help a community process and heal from a difficult situation – and examine journalistic ethics at the same time.
• The 2005 Gridiron Dinner: we honored Bill Sr. and Mimi Gates with great humor, aplomb, and financial success
• The amazing analysis of 10 years of coverage by the Spokane Spokesman-Review of the River Park Square redevelopment project, which property the newspaper company owned.

My biggest disappointments:
• when neither KIRO-TV nor the Seattle Post-Intelligencer showed up for those excellent hearings, where they could have been more transparent, and perhaps convinced more News Council members that their coverage was reasonable;
• the 2006 Gridiron Dinner, where Tom Foley was honored (along with Slade Gorton) and didn’t show up (we produced a cardboard cutout), and I was in a traffic accident on my way into town from which I’m only now recovered.

One of the things we’ve been working on in Journalism That Matters, our traveling think-tanks on the future of journalism, is adding a 6th W to the canon of journalistic w’s (who what where when why): And that is, What’s possible now?

So, what’s possible now with the News Council?

➢ helping the media make sense of its evolving role in the new news ecology
➢ helping the public make sense of where to find news we can trust
➢ involving more young people so the Council stays relevant & multi-media
➢ proving utility through continued hearings, web-education, educational programs
➢ be a model of a kind of institution that helps re-invent communication, community storytelling, vetting for truth.
➢ Give people tools for talking, for constructive conversation with and about (and creating new) media

How?
> Don’t just respond to complaints, highlight great reporting in various media
> Provide educational events that present new insights & action steps for both media and audience
> Create a website that helps citizens find news & info that’s truly useful to them – and shows them how to vet it
> Find new revenue streams that will support the news council’s work

Finally, I leave you with Silha’s two rules for a better life:

KISS & DBATA

KISS: Keep it simple, stupid!
DBATA: Don’t be afraid to ask!

Beaches and beaches

2008-01-11T22:49:00.001-08:00

Beach below Soundcliff on Vashon Island

If life’s a beach, then Gordon and I are waves lapping on it, storms kicking against it, kids surfing it, cliffs wondering at it.

We live on an island, above a beach that looks rocky like the photo above.

So we were happy to spend the holidays on another island that has beaches like this …

A gorgeous beach near the Kona-Kailua airport on the Big Island of Hawai'i

In order to get to this beautiful white-sand beach, you have to walk across lots of hardened black lava, or drive in a 4-wheel-drive or high-axeled vehicle. We were lucky, after a long walk in, that Marshall, Olivia, and Josh offered us a ride back to our car on the way out...

College students Marshall, Olivia, and Josh gave us a ride in their truck, then posed for a photo!

We were also amazed to see the sea from lava-beaches like this …

Lava and coral combine to make dramatic beaches -- and locals like to write messages in white coral on black lava...

And to walk into dramatic valleys to large-stoned beaches like this...

The astounding black rock and black sand beach at Pololu Valley on the north end of the Big Island

And to sit on precarious cliffs like this …

Okay, Gordon got the nickname "Ansel" Barnett from our friend Zeke, and I misspoke. The name of the place is Kapa'au.
Accuracy in reporting! But you get the idea -- and hey, it's my first multimedia blog entry! How many mistakes do you hear on media every day?

What's new?

2008-01-09T13:35:00.000-08:00

The view from Soundcliff at sunrise

A new year
a new leaf
a new outlook
a new torch
a new touch
a new insight
a new longing
a new lease
a new dish
a new scent
a new hunger
a new regimen
a new prayer
a new player
a new ring
a new identity
a new game
a new juice
a new ruse
a new fight
a new conversation
a new resolve
a new dissolve
a new breath
a new love
a new song

Christmas Eve

2007-12-24T11:21:00.000-08:00

John & Glenn's house near Captain Cook, Hawai'i

Even as we embrace the present, Gordon and I are exploring alternative futures.

Four years ago, our friends John and Glenn took a leap of faith toward warm ocean waters and part-of-the-year isolation by buying a house on the Big Island of Hawai’i. We’re grateful to be celebrating Solstice, Yule, Christmas, and the coming of the new calendar year with them here.

Gordon & Stephen by the koi pond, in the hula spirit

It’s indeed an island of contrasts. Such lushness and tropical beauty. Such stark volcanic ash. The largest number of growing zones in one place. The elements – fire, water, earth, air -- in high relief. All of them soft, and extreme.

John and Glenn have created a beautiful garden, complete with bananas, papayas, avocados, lemons, limes, spiders, toads, and exuberant fountains and ponds (that require lots of maintenance). Their house looks out over the ancient City of Refuge--the one place you could go, if you could run fast enough, when you did something wrong, and be forgiven. We could all use cities of refuge.

Near that city is some of the best snorkeling on the Island. And snorkeling, for me, is like a dream. I enter another reality. I can fly like in my childhood fantasies. And just when I think I’ve seen every color of luminous fish – green parrot fish, yellow angelfish, wild Picasso fish – there’s a black fish with opalescent stripes showing me how to swim and sway in a new way. Or a sea turtle blinking at me. Or an octopus curled up in a ball.

This is certainly a contrast to Christmases in Minnesota, where I grew up, and where, this year, they’re actually having a White Christmas. It seems a lot of folks who grew up with cold winters are loving being here -- surfing, snorkeling, sipping lilikoi margaritas.

Glenn & John enjoying sunset at Kealakekua Bay

Best wishes for balance and peace to those celebrating everywhere.

Travel is such sweet tonic!

2007-12-14T10:54:00.000-08:00

Looking out from Roma Termini train station at a tourist bus; it only rained on the fast train to Venice!

I’ve always loved travel. Friends have dubbed me “En Route.”

After a challenging year of hard work and mood swings, I learned again how healing it is. I spent 2 wonderful October weeks in Italy with a friend — Rome, Venice, and Tuscany. Totally delightful. Beautiful weather. Good pacing.

Eduardo and Angela near the Roman Forum

A mini-skirted movie-star-style guide to the Roman Forum and a sweet, smart gay ex-Catholic guiding us through the Vatican. A hip-hop Italian version of “Peter Pan,” complete with magic wands and audience participation ("I believe in fairies!") Magical time in Venice including a jazz concert, a new-music-version of Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis,” an Indian dance performance — while staying at a new guest house with a stunning rooftop deck and brilliant views of the city.

Kids on a field trip to Piazza San Marco

Golden days in Tuscany, staying at a wonderful agriturismo with some other Americans, visiting stunning hill towns and ancient Roman baths.

Edward Guthmann loved our beautiful green Motiz as we traversed the Tuscan Hills!

There was a resonance with my very first trip to Europe in 1970, when I spent 3 months studying roots of Western Civilization... a month each in Greece and Italy, and 2 weeks each in France and England looking at all the things that had been ripped off from Greece and Italy. That was a life-changing trip. It opened the frame of my vision personally, socially, politically, creatively. I was also reading a book on alternative futures for America by Robert Theobald, who became a mentor and an important inspiration in my attitude and worldview. (He said: “Some of us have got to define ourselves and world problem-solvers.” and “You can get change, or you can get credit for change — but you can’t get both.”)

This trip could also prove life-changing, but in more subtle ways. I’m at somewhat of a crossroads with my work, and play. Gordon and I are facing a possible move in the next several years. We are also looking to spend winters in a warmer spot. He is interested in doing more teaching of the considerable things he’s learned and taught himself about wax-carving, and jewelry and bell making. I’m wanting to research and write a biography of James Broughton before his friends all die away.

So, I find new inspiration in the Romans’ ability to see the big picture (even if they had other blind spots), be patient, and balance work and play. I’m ready to dive in — and want to still support the youth arts program Power of Hope, the news council concept (though I’m going off that board next year), and the youth communication projects on Vashon. So how to do all that, and still enjoy my gorgeous husband, the wonderful spot where we live, and leave time for nature and spiritual renewal?

Hmmm, it means making more conscious choices. [This, in the middle of increasing success of the Journalism That Matters project and my desire to do more writing of articles.]

We’ll see how I do.

Peggy Guggenheim's terrace on the Grand Canal, Venice; no place like it on earth!

Living on the Edge

2007-12-10T10:19:00.000-08:00

For 18 years now, I’ve lived on the edge of a cliff. Literally. [I live on other edges, too, but that’s another story.]

It’s been an exhilarating ride, indeed. I feel honored to be steward of such a spot. It’s also been a major headache as the cliff is on an unstable part of the island.

Until this year, there has been little movement to speak of on my property (other than the 1999 storms which caused a mile of the island to sink 8 inches, ending at the edge of my house). This past March, we lost about 15 feet of the edge of our cliff.

The good news: we discovered the slide was caused by a leak in our own drainage. The bad news: we had to build a retaining wall and new drainage to ensure there won’t be more slippage. The better news: we built a new observation/yoga/meditation deck atop the retaining wall, giving us glorious views of Puget Sound and the Cascade Mountains.

Gordon and I call our house Soundcliff: both a description and a prayer [And – thanks to those who’ve asked – we fared OK in the recent rain and windstorms.]

***

Soundcliff / Sacred Space

Our home is sacred space...
and on sacred land
Soft land that won't be here in centuries
But now both sacred and somewhat scared...
Amazing water views, floating...
Witnessing that majesty of horrible fire, Tahoma
Air creatures, sea creatures, land creatures all around
Botanical exuberance delights and feeds us
Each room a shrine to daily life
Each life altered at the altar of existence
Inviting inner reflection while inspiring outer beauty
Better not to talk about it
Just be in it
And listen...

World AIDS Month (or Year?)

2007-12-04T13:17:00.000-08:00

This commemorative program which I edited was distributed at the dedication of Bailey-Boushay House in January, 1992

In the late 80’s and early 90’s I was nearly paralyzed with grief, as friends and acquaintances were falling left and right to the plague – Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.

One thing I could do about it: say yes when Betsy Lieberman asked me to join the board of AIDS Housing of Washington, an organization created to build the country’s first AIDS hospice designed specifically for people with AIDS. (That organization is now called Building Changes, with a mission of eradicating homelessness in Washington State.)

What resulted was Bailey-Boushay House, a 35-bed residential care facility in Seattle’s Madison Park neighborhood which also runs an Adult Day Health program that serves, among others, many homeless people with AIDS.

On Saturday, December 1 (World AIDS Day), Bailey-Boushay House (the building) was turned over to the Virginia Mason Medical Center, the pioneering health care organization which has administered the hospice for 15 years and will continue to operate (and now own) it. The handoff happened at a joyous celebration at Seattle’s Museum of History & Industry, where a new documentary on the history of Bailey-Boushay was screened. Over 150 people showed up, even though it was snowing.

The reason: we’re all passionate about Bailey-Boushay, and we remember with great emotion people who’ve died there, people who’ve created art and music there, people who continue to thrive there. And we remember our struggles: how difficult it was to raise money, to change laws, to overcome neighborhood opposition to the hospice when it was in development between 1988 and 1991.

In the film, I recount one action by some Radical Faeries: when locals complained that an AIDS hospice might result in “overt homosexual behavior” in the neighborhood, we held a “terrorist shopping spree” where we dressed up in outrageous clothes and – as an example of “overt homosexual behavior” -- went shopping!

We think we diffused some of the negative opinions with humor.

I’m very proud of Bailey-Boushay (the first building I know of in the U.S. named after a gay couple) – and am delighted that Virginia Mason will continue the high level of care and compassion the community has come to expect there.

But I’m also concerned that the AIDS time bomb is still ticking – most obviously in Africa, but all over the world. Dr. Robert Wood of the Seattle/King County Health Department told me that infection rates are still high in the U.S. He estimates, for example, that 40% of gay men now alive will contract the virus if current rates continue.

Yikes!

No smiles?

2007-11-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

No smiles?

While dropping off digital images to be printed into photographs at Flash Photo on Vashon, a curly-haired young man showed up for a passport photo.

“OK, don’t smile,” the photographer said. “The passport agency won’t take photos that are too smiley.”

You’ve got to be kidding, I thought. What about those for whom a smile is their default, if not their umbrella?

“No, they want relaxed facial muscles,” he explained.

OK.

The mood of the country.

The new default smile.

Thanks, thanks, thanks!

2007-11-24T14:25:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving 2007

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s all about gratitude, friends/family, and great food. What could be better?

Poetry, costumes, and imagination – our culture (and I) desperately need more of it.

It’s become a tradition since I moved to this house (now called Soundcliff) in 1989 to host friends for feasting on Thanksgiving Day. Each guest brings at least one dish, and a poem, story or blessing.

We usually eat turkey, but there have been years when we’ve ventured into goose, Beef Wellington, and even stuffed squid (that year the theme was “Aphrodesia”). One infamous Thanksgiving, one of the guests decorated himself with fruit and frosting and served himself on a giant cardboard/silver tray for dessert (along with an original poem, “I’ve been Desserted”).

This year’s theme: Subversive Conviviality and Conjunctive Creativity. In other words, we made it up as we went along.

Blessed with great weather and a near-full moon, we also took hikes and read poetry, sang songs and chants and incanted blessings between courses. We began at 1 p.m., and finished sometime around 11 p.m.

Friends often ask to see the menu, so this year I’ll put it on the blog:

Pupu Course: Spiced cider, Champagne, Martinelli’s Sparkling cider, San Pellegrino

Coins de pomme de terres -- fingerling potatoes with leek butter and French sorrel chiffonade (Gordon and Doug)
Croutons with homemade goat cheese and membrille (quince paste) (Doug)
Assorted nuts, cheeses, pate, olives, and one pickled green tomato
Avocado & black bean paste

[Two dachshunds on the porch—barking]

Poetry (Steven)

Soup course:
Sunshine soup (Malcolm)
Squash, golden beets, Yukon gold potatoes, sipolena onions, garlic, yellow fennel, pinch of curry, golden and red peppers

Salad course:

Poetry of William Carlos Williams (Tom)
Video: “Living Salad” – documentary of a ritual from last month where Doug Gosling served 40 people salad from a bed, which they ate on their knees with no hands (with spray vinigrette)

Mother Garden Confetti Salad (Doug Gosling of Occidental Arts & Ecology Center)
Baby lettuce, beets, carrots, & mizuna with pineapple guava vinegrette

Blessing circle: candle, globe, and 11 men (Sequoia)

Main course: Turkey (Gordon), dressing, sausage stuffing (Chris), sweet potato pecan cassarole (Sequoia), cranberry horseradish relish (Lurid Pink/Chris), mashed potatoes & celeriac (Dougo & Gordon), pumpkin date nut bread (Evan), ziti with fresh picked chard and mushrooms (Tom), guava chutney (Michael).

Palette cleanser: Lemon rosemary sorbet (Stephen)

Dessert:
Layers of Fall (Neil) : Carmel roasted pears, almond struessel, pumpkin chibouste, cider reduction Tuille triangle

Chai (Sequoia/Malcolm/Lirio) & after dinner whatevers (all)

So, with memories of that meal and all its layers filling me up even now, I wish you the best of this dark season. And despite supposed 'needs' of the money economy, I encourage engaging the gift economy: making presents, recycling things you love but are ready to let go of, and using the opportunity to communicate what needs and wants to be said to those you love (or maybe don't)...

The horns of our dilemmas

2007-11-18T18:10:00.000-08:00

Table in our living room; painting by Mark Fockler

“Clarity about being messed up invites divinity.”

So said mythologist Michael Meade yesterday at an all-day workshop on “Leaping Between the Horns” – an exploration of how to live with the contradictions and craziness of these times.

Goddess knows we need a bit of divinity—but are we clear about being messed up?

If you look into the eyes of many Americans, especially at airports and shopping malls (those bastions of patriotism), it does seem there’s a “malaise,” as Jimmy Carter called it in the 1970’s. I certainly can feel disappointment and depression in the air.

Meade’s presentation was a tour de force of poetry, song, storytelling, drumming, philosophy, mythology, and active questioning. He invited us each to consider where we are in relation to the divine spark (an eagle in an African story he told) that is the reason we’re here. Are we fulfilling our higher purpose? Are we living up to our genius? How many of our own best ideas have we squelched?

He invited us to jump between the horns of our dilemmas, to pay more attention to our wounds--to consider what’s the core tension in our life. What happened in early childhood that might have blocked us from our true purpose? What initiation experiences might be incomplete? “Your wounds and your gifts may come from the same place.”

Culturally, he pushed for “olders” to become “elders,” to engage creatively with younger generations instead of retiring to golf courses. “Culture is the sum total of its imagination,” he said. “The world can only end if it runs out of stories.”

What kind of future can we imagine? That’s the task for young and old to engage together, as we tell stories that leap through the horns of our many personal and cultural dilemmas.

National Philanthropy Day

2007-11-16T11:19:00.000-08:00

This fabulous booklet, Telling our Stories: Philanthropy in the Northwest, published by Philanthropy Northwest

National Philanthropy Day

Yes, it is! Happy “Love of Mankind” day. Practice a random act of philanthropy.

Last night I witnessed a dramatic depiction of organized philanthropy (arguably the most clunky kind) at the annual meeting (and 30th anniversary) of Philanthropy Northwest, our regional association of grantmakers.

It was stunning in its honesty and reminded me of my years working in the field of professional philanthropy. I learned:

If you work for a foundation, people don’t always tell you the truth. They tell you what they think you want to hear. It can distort relationships.

Power dynamics are at work, big time, when money is involved. There are the donors, then there are the “hired hands” who help distribute the money, then there are the supplicants, and the grantees.

Foundations are actually repositories of “news” on the creative edges of culture, as they receive proposals for funding from social entrepreneurs. Journalists should pay more attention to this news source. (Especially the grant requests that are turned down.)

The presentation, Four Short Plays: Four Big Ideas, brilliantly directed by KJ Sanchez, was made up of tidbits remembered from interviews with people in the philanthropic realm. It highlighted disparities between rich and poor, intentions and “guidelines,” heart and head. I’m sure it made some people mad. I hope it inspires conversations that will, in fact, result in everybody becoming a philanthropist. (You don’t have to have money to love humankind.)