The new Berkeley Art Museum and a Few Thoughts on Nancy Reagan

This is what we woke up to this morning:

Toppled

Fifteen years ago,  a landscaper chose the wrong species of tree fern to plant up against the house, a tall one instead of one sturdier squat one.  It grew away from the house and toward the sun until most of the foliage was on one side.  Recent torrents of rain did it in.

Not a crisis, obviously, but startling.  Now we'll get a squat one.

* * * * *

A couple of weeks ago, I checked out the new UC Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, which opened in January in the former campus printing plant.  I like it--the light's good, the spaces feel friendly to visitors and art, and the cafe serves good food.

I've followed the campus art museum from pillar to post, starting in the winter of 1969, when I drove up to Berkeley from UC Santa Barbara with friends.  At that time, the Art Gallery was housed in an old building near Sproul Hall:

The Old Art Gallery, as it's now known

By the fall of 1970, I'd transferred to Berkeley, and from my window in a high-rise dorm I looked down on the back of the brand-new art museum, a gigantic Brutalist structure on Bancroft Way.  One evening I looked out my window and saw a guy in black rappelling down its side on a black rope. We all thought the new museum was the bee's knees.

 The front of the old art museum

By the 1980's, I hardly ever went to the art museum because it was too hard to find parking, and because, with a few exceptions, I didn't think the shows were very interesting.  I did, however, become a regular visitor to the campus printing plant, in downtown Berkeley, because by then I was a writer/editor in the Graduate Division.

Many years later, the massive concrete museum was found to be a seismically unsafe, so it was propped up and braced while people decided what to do about a new building.   To my amazement,  the new location turned out to be the now-abandoned printing plant, close to BART and restaurants. The 1939 building was going to be re-purposed to look like this:

At the corner of Center and Oxford Streets.  Designed by Diller Scofidio & Renfro.

This is what it looks like today:

Stretching the block between Center and Addison, across from the West Gate of the campus. To the left, the former printing plant, and to the right, an addition with a huge screen at one end.

The screen faces Addison Street:

Walking alongside it

The Center Street entrance

A Rosie Lee Tompkins quilt

The Forum, where they were setting up for a dance performance

A view across Center Street, which is lined with restaurants, including Top Dog and Bongo Burger, Berkeley institutions

Cafe Babette on the museum's second level; no outdoor seating, alas

The stairwells are ORANGE

More orange

The Berkeley Art Museum is open Wednesday-Sunday from 11 am-9 pm.  General admission is $12; senior admission is $10.  Free admission to UC students, staff, and retirees.

 * * * * *

My First Lady archives

 I have something of a side-line in First Ladies. I read all the biographies and autobiographies I can lay my hands on, Republicans and Democrats, although I go only as far back as Eleanor Roosevelt.

These ladies range from feisty (Bess Truman) to Nobel-material (Eleanor Roosevelt) to silly (Mamie Eisenhower).   Pat Nixon was piteous, and Babs Bush, however well-mannered she is, apparently can be downright unpleasant; one of her assistants said she's "a good person, but not nice."

Nancy Reagan, in my opinion, was insecure and sad.  As a child, she was abandoned by her father and then, temporarily, by her mother. I don't think she ever got over it. She was very afraid of a) being alone, and b) getting it wrong, although she often did--buying new White House china during a recession and launching the "Just say No" campaign are two examples.

If only it were as simple as just saying "no."

 Long-time Reagan speechwriter Peggy Noonan wrote that around the White House Nancy was known as "The Hairdo with Anxiety." Noonan herself tried to find a pillar to hide behind if she saw her coming, as Raisa Gorbachev probably did after this meeting, described in a puff piece produced by the Reagan Library: "Mrs. Reagan arrived wearing this Galanos gray suit.  Raisa Gorbachev, in contrast, was starkly dressed."

Poor Raisa.

Nevertheless, when I heard that Nancy Reagan died,  I thought, she's had some tough times and rest in peace. The internet lit up with very unkind, vitriolic comments, and I thought, why? She's gone, poor woman.

Then came her funeral and the likes of Judy Woodruff and the New York Times going on about her great romance with Ronnie (I'd call it an enmeshed relationship, excluding even their children) and her social graces as the queen of Camelot in 1980's-era Washington in her Adolfos and Galanos.   Is this really admirable?  Are we that desperate for heroines?  

Back to Eleanor and her hairnets.

Melting Clothes, Daycor Updates, and an Emergency Kit for the One Percent

This week two close friends lost family members, one a mother, the other a brother.   I am so sorry.  Much sympathy to CM (x3) and EP.  Whatever you feel/say/write, I am there with you.  As Anne Lamott wrote, "We are here to see each other through."  

* * * * *

The past several weeks have been full of minor domestic things gone wrong.  My car (dead battery, replaced by AAA), Jerry's car (brakes), my iPhone (will no longer allow photos to be e-mailed), the boom box in my studio (too much opera lately?).  It's been one thing after another.  But here are two problems we managed to fix ourselves, and I'm passing the remedies along so you, too, can feel thirfty and empowered.

First, toilets.  I know, gross--and a major inconvenience.  Two clogged up several weeks apart, and after a plunger proved to be useless, I googled the problem and came up with this formula.  To my amazement, it worked!  No plumber needed.

•      Pour 1 cup of baking soda and 2 cups of vinegar into the toilet.  This will fizz dramatically.

•      Pour about a half gallon of hot water (the temperature of hot tea) from waist level into the bowl.

•      Let the mixture stand overnight.

•      Flush.

At this point, our toilets were unclogged and functioned perfectly.  Thank-you, WikiHow.

Next up:  a nearly-new Rowenta iron with a plate gummed up with residue from ironing polyester/spandex,  a mess that neither fingernails nor non-abrasive scrubbers could clean up.

Truly magical results

I went back to the internet.  Someone commented that a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser worked, so I tried it.  Voila, no more sticky gunk and no scratches! 

Later I called the Rowenta help line and found out that I should have used the "Synthetics" setting; I had melted the man-made fabric, my bad.  The Magic Eraser treatment was new to him, though. 

Don't they check the internet?

* * * * *

Following up on my post about trends in  home decor, I was very bucked-up to read in House Beautiful   that white kitchens are back!  Oh, yes!  White counters, appliances, cabinets--once again au courant!  I'm back in style (our kitchen is c. 1999).

Of course, you're more chic if you go with faux-vintage appliances:

I have no idea what these cost, but it's got to be more than your garden variety Whirlpool.

Then I found yet another tarted-up laundry room on a blog:

I'm so missing this gene!  Why would you fill glass-front cabinets with paper towels?   And go to the trouble of papering the walls to look like subway tiles?

Just to give you an idea of my own laundry room and the energy I'm willing to put into its appearance:

Under the house and with a bare light bulb

We ARE thinking of remodeling my bathroom.  Here are my sister and the contractor discussing what can be done:

A 1924 closet turned into a bathroom in the 1960's.  Somewhat better than the laundry room, but with definite issues.

*****

And yet more information on emergency kits.  How about one that includes a monogrammed emergency bag and Earl Grey tea?  All for a mere $375, as documented in the New York Times:

A kit for the one percent.

Scarlett Johansson, who reviewed this kit, said, "If somebody is that concerned with the look of their disaster kit then they're not going to survive the apocalypse.  The zombies are coming for that guy, because he probably tastes like Kobe beef."

Why Are Emergency Survival Kits Hilarious?

To me, anyway.  I always end up laughing.

My studio at the moment

We're having some construction done on the house this week, and there's stuff from the bedroom parked all over my studio.  I can't quilt in there, so I  decamped to the kitchen and made a list of long-procrastinated tasks I could attack.

First, I should update our emergency kit, which in this area means "earthquake kit."  We live two blocks from the notorious Hayward Fault.  Our block has an emergency plan that involves two buried plastic barrels of supplies and all-inclusive emergency staffing assignments (I'm on the newsletter committee). 

Each household is supposed to have an earthquake kit, and Jerry and I have tried, tried, to do the right thing, but we deal with our kit decade-ly.  Our food, water, and batteries are way out of date.  We'd be pathetic in an emergency.

Right now, our "kit" is piled on the floor of the downstairs hall closet:

 Not exactly grab-and-run

Each time our local NPR station has a pledge drive, they offer emergency kits as a bonus if you donate enough money.  I wanted a closer look, so I made a note of the company that supplies this bonus,  Emergencykits.com, and this morning I checked out the website.

Oh, my God, I laughed!  I kept making trips into Jerry's study to tell him about it.  He was not as amused, although he agreed that buying a kit made more sense than using our haphazardly packed bags of stuff.

I studied the various possibilities.

First off, I decided that I'd like a kit that includes a toilet, however sketchy.  That means a bucket with a snap-on toilet lid.   Here's a kit with a bucket toilet, tricked out with supplies for two people for 72 hours:

 The Home Base Emergency Kit, $119.99

With this kit you get packets of food, pouches of water, and a hand-crank/solar radio.  Other items include  "moiste" [stet] towelettes; a Swiss Army-Like Knife (I love the "like") with 17 functions; and duct tape, which is Jerry's fix-it method of choice.

If we think we can't manage to wrest all that out of the front hall closet, we could buy a backpack of stuff and hide it somewhere outdoors (where?).  This kit includes have a 2-person tube tent, which I know would make me claustrophobic, but no toilet.  It weighs 16 pounds, but you can get a rolling backpack, which solves that problem.

The Home Emergency Kit: $109.99

Note the tube tent on the right.

I was all set to order one of these kits, when I thought to check out online reviews.  At Ready Set Go, I found this highly-rated kit, which to my surprise includes a deck of cards.  A deck of cards!  For the truly blase disaster survivor:

 On sale for $119.99.  The glove is very OJ.

I went back to Emergencykits.com and  came across my very favorite item of all,  "The GO Anywhere Portable Toilet," otherwise known as "The PETT."   
 

This item is described as "thoughtfully engineered."  It folds up into a case and weighs only 8 pounds.  Also, "it... can support up to to 500 pounds...It's even stable on uneven ground."  All this for only $69.99.

If modesty is a concern, there's always this option:

The shrouded PETT

When I saw this picture I had to push back from my computer, convulsed with laughter.  I mean, honestly!

Is it black humor?  Lack of imagination? Displaced anxiety?  Maybe what I'd really like to do is empty the hall closet of coats and shoes and load it up with photos, quilts, travel journals, oh, and maybe a few moths for Jerry to fool around with.

Whatever.  I just hope I can wedge my antidepressants into the Hygiene Kit.

Whatever Happened in Iowa, Let's Stay Friends

"My idealistic side loves Bernie. My pragmatic side thinks Hillary is better prepared overall. I think they both have done a great job at bringing hidden issues out in the open. I refuse to put either of them down. There's too much at stake."--my friend Celia on Facebook this morning.

Thanks, Celia.  I needed to be reminded.

 Let's stop putting down either of them, because there IS too much at stake.

On the New York Times website,  articles about Clinton and Sanders are followed by a huge number of comments, and putting down the other candidate is the name of the game. Each morning I scan the comments, bracing myself for criticism of Hillary.  Then I get mad.  Then I scroll down and start distributing "likes" to anyone who criticizes Sanders.  No doubt there are Sanders supporters who are doing the same.

Stupid!  Pointless!

Who's the real enemy?  Small-minded people like Toxic Ted and the rest of that loony brigade.

How about this, instead?

Isn't great that we have two intelligent, committed, sane Democratic candidates to choose from?  People who will appoint a similarly sane, liberal person to the Supreme Court, if necessary. People who will protect the freedom to choose an abortion and the right of gay people to marry.  People who don't deny climate change.  People who don't think people are poor because they're lazy.

 Both candidates have a lot to offer

Either Sanders or Clinton will do a hell of a lot better job than any Republican running for President.  Let's be thankful for that.  Let's be deliberative and weigh the issues.  We can choose whichever candidate we prefer in the primary and then jump the (relatively) low fence to vote for the other in the general election, if necessary.

I'm lecturing myself here.  No more demonizing.  No more payback "likes."  What's at stake isn't my ego or passion or identity--a sister Baby Boomer!-- but the welfare of the country.  Deep breath. 

   

Please, No More Deaths of Rock Stars and Quilting on a Deadline

This is what I've been up to for the last couple of weeks:  Rushing to finish two quilt tops so that I can meet the Friday deadline for submitting entries to the Voices in Cloth quilt show in March.

Today I picked up photos of the quilts and sat out in front of CVS at Rose and Shattuck, sorting through the pictures, stapling them to entry forms, making sure I had all the papers in order, and then wandering down to the post office to slide the envelope through the slot.  That triumph called for a stop at the Cheeseboard to buy a Spicy Carrot Muffin, thick with raisins, to eat with a wedge of cheese and a cup of  hot tea.  Bliss.

I still have to make backs for each quilt, cut bindings, and hand it all off to Angie Woolman to be quilted.  But the paperwork is DONE!  (Yes, I could have entered online, but I tried to, lost everything I wrote, and assumed my usual techo-peasant stance: paper is more reliable.)

* * * * *

Way too many people in their sixties--notably rock stars, but also others--have been dying. Awful!  My God, what are we supposed to do with this information?  Seize the moment? (How?)  Drink ourselves silly?  Say what we need to say to certain people?  Make another trip to Europe to see every last bucket-list locale?  In my own case,  get the hokey calico wallpaper off the walls of my studio (came with the house in 1984)?

Recently, I came across a  "List of Possible Things to Do in Retirement, Before Death, With Rest of Life" (taken from an AARP book).  I must have done this about 1994:

1. Books to read: "Middlemarch"--have not done.  Shameful for an English major.

Highly recommend

2. Letter I want to write: to Sandra Albertson (author of  the best book on death and dying that I've ever found: "Endings and Beginnings: A Young Family's Experience with Death and Renewal")--yes, and she sent a gracious response.  I've given away several copies of this book.

3. Foods to try: Go to Green's restaurant in San Francisco--done!  Also, try caviar--yes.  (Found both to be overrated.)

4. Things to learn to do: 

      To weave--no, and I've lost the urge.

      To overcome my fear of driving over bridges--yes, but it was damned scary.

5. Activities to try: 

      Boating--no, ditto re lost urge

      Having a facial--yes and liked it.   

      Rafting the Colorado River--no and don't plan to since I heard you have to poop in a box.

This day trip on the Colorado River in 1993 whetted my appetite for a longer one--until I found out about the poop box.

 6. Trips to take:  London, Paris, and New York--yes to all; several times to New York and London. 

2008

7. Three gifts for myself:  a CD player, a new sewing machine, and more classical CD's--yes to all, and they've enriched my life.

8. The one physical change I want to make in my appearance:  Learn to stand up straight--yes! I'm in the process of learning with the help of a physical therapist.  A long road.

This list made me feel so much better, some 20 years after I wrote it, that I think I might to update it.  Anyone know of a large-print edition of "Middlemarch"?

* * * * *

Voices in Cloth quilt show will be held March 19-20 at the Craneway Pavillion in Pt. Richmond.  For more information,  try this link

The Madness Ebbs, the Office Empties, the Spirits Rise

Flowers my sister gave me for Christmas.  Presents that are alive are good (not puppies). 

 
My friend Chris sent an e-mail a few days ago that began,  "AT LAST, Christmas is over!"

But he was wrong.  Christmas isn't over until the world goes back to work and to school and leaves the weekdays to retirees, stay-at-home-moms, and people who work at home.

That would be the day after tomorrow, Monday, January 4, 2016.  I've been thinking about that day since Thanksgiving.  It's the day when the madness ebbs, and  life returns to more or less normal.

* * * * * 

On New Year's Day,  Jerry and I went to Pt. Reyes, where it was clear, cold, and mobbed.  He looked like the Michelin Man, wearing a heavy sweatshirt over a down vest..  I wore a scarf and gloves, fleece pullover, jacket, and an determined expression--I wanted out of the house, even if I had to brave the cold.

A little puffy, not entirely from holiday treats

 We huddled in our car at the Visitor's Center, eating sandwiches and swilling hot chocolate.  Then we drove to the Estero Trail, hiked out to the bridge, and took some pictures:

Low tide

Flowing out to the sea

Then we made a quick swing by North Beach, only to be astounded by 50 cars in the parking lot (Jerry counted) and what seemed like legions of people walking the beach, considering how cold it was.

North Beach parking lot.  I was amazed (but then why were we there?)

Windy!

Happy New Year.  Happy New Beginnings.  Happy Peace and Quiet.

 * * * * *

Just before Christmas, my computer rebelled and stopped typing "O's".  I took it off to the Thai man who fixes its hardware. 

As he tinkered, he announced, vehemently,  "Donald Tump [sic] is bullshit."

Jerry and I are so taken with this that we now just refer to "Tump."  It sums up the ridiculousness of the man.  Better than thinking about him actually becoming President.

* * * * *

We set a deadline of December 31 to have Jerry's campus office empty, and we just about made it.  These photos were taken New Year's Eve:

 

 

214 Wellman Hall, Jerry's office for 48 years.  Note the recycling waiting for pick-up.

The office is empty, but numerous--nine but who's counting?--boxes of correspondence, research files, and God knows what now litter the dining room and the basement.  I've checked out, though.  It's over, as far as I'm concerned, except for a little light nagging.

Lurking in a corner of the dining room

The dining table, but it's a year until next Christmas, when we might actually use it

 

The workbench in the basement.  Four more boxes are parked on the garden furniture stashed for the winter.  It's getting crowded down there.

 * * * * *

One of my top goals for 2016--and much more interesting than getting a colonoscopy and updating the earthquake kit--is to play as much as I can.  Read this article in the New York Times and see if you don't agree.