It's Called Taproot

Space to Breathe, 2017

Did you know there is a magazine out there without ads, created for makers, doers & dreamers, with sections titled head, hands, and heart?

Yes, it exists. It’s called Taproot.

I’m honored to have my writing in their latest issue, GROW, in the heart section, accompanied by a papercut illustration by the talented Jennifer Judd-McGee.

The people who pull this magazine together are the types who don’t have a problem dedicating their first two pages, as well as their last page, to a peaceful floral print, and this makes me happy.

We all need a little space to breathe.

Thanks for doing what you do, Taproot.

Issue 22 :: GROW

You can find more of my work in these earlier issues of Taproot:
Issue 6 :: WATER
Issue 3 :: RETREAT

Fish & Game Quarterly

Poet's Chair, 2016

I'm sitting in the poet's chair over at Fish & Game Quarterly. The spring issue of this online publication is out today. I've just learned that my two poems in this issue are Fish & Game Quarterly's first poetry offerings. I'm honored. These are not warm and fuzzy poems, although one of them is titled Peaches, but they are dear to me.

You'll also find photographs from Inverness, CA, a remembrance of Prince, an essay about space and place written by a former bass player in the band Hole, digital art, a piece about the future of food magazines (there's hope!), even an instrumental track by a trio described as an idiosyncratic blend of dub, roots reggae, and spiritual jazz traditions. This and more are shared by a diverse group of contributors from New York to Bali.

Fish & Game Quarterly 

Enjoy.

This Too Shall Pass

 Childhood, 2014

Have you ever felt off kilter, searching, hoping to put yourself back on track and feel at ease again, when you stumble upon the perfect something? For me it's often something I read, but it can also be a memory, a photograph, or passing a contented old man on the sidewalk. I'm sure you have your own collection.

Today I found a quote from Marilynne Robinson's novel, Housekeeping, at the top of an article in The Atlantic. I read it, paused, looked up, saw the few wonky little ceramic pieces I made as a young girl resting in my bay window, and I was again in upright position, restored.

The Space Between

tiny flower, 2014

I remember her telling me I must spend time alone each year. Not an hour or a day, but a week, or even two. It was, she told me, essential to my remaining whole, and not losing myself in a relationship. A creative person must remain an individual. She had, and believed it improved her sense of self, her relationships, and her work.

She was my tutorial instructor one semester during my MFA program. We often ended up discussing life more than work in these one-on-one courses. When making art is the work, separating work from life is difficult. One becomes the other and vice versa. So she instructed me in living an artist's life, although I believe she thought any person, man or woman, artist or not, should live this way.

When she traveled, she took the long way. She avoided airplanes and liked to drive instead, feeling every curve and bump she traversed, watching the landscape change, rolling down the windows and feeling the weather shift.

She wanted to feel the space between home and where she was going. She took the distance seriously. She believed in this ritual wholeheartedly. It was how she cleared her mind and made space for the new.

More, please.

Lemons and Mail, 2013

Handwriting
Mail sent with stamps
Movies seen in theaters
Telephone calls
Poetry
Books made from paper
Hats knit by hand
Dinner at home

a book
a movie
a meal

Weekend Project

Drop Stitch Cowl, 2013

Close to instant gratification.

The author of the pattern* says any super bulky yarn will do. So why not knit one for yourself or someone you like?

Thanks for the inspiration, Leslie.

*I substituted a size 15 16"circular needle for the 20" noted in the pattern. Also, I did not YO twice in my YO rows, just once, making my fit more snug than the loose fit you'll see in the pattern link.

By Herself

Noticing, 2013

This quiet morning has me thinking of an excerpt from Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse, knitting, and a disconcerting dream I had last night. I'm sure the dream was inspired by Rebecca Lee's short story, Bobcat. I'd rather forget the dream, but the story was excellent.

Before It Slips Away

Cardoon, 2013

The Anniversary of Our Engagement

A sleeping coyote
Seal pups
Unbroken sand dollars
Bill Evans
Brickmaiden
Laura Chenel's Mélodie
The knit stitch
Lavender baths
Watching little birds sing with their entire bodies
The meadow, oh the meadow...
Grilled corn on the cob
Kelly's pattypan squash
Cows, horses, and little lambs with long black gloves
Feeling undaunted by Wild Flour's closed sign
A summer matinee in a near-empty movie theater
Early Gravenstein apples
Eating $1 oysters beside the bay in which they grew
Crazy delicious smoked salmon
Smelling lilacs behind the farmhouse
Tiny fish darting around in a stream
Mint chocolate chip ice cream, and a broken cone
Christopher's cardoon flower from Table Top Farm
Rye porridge with Toma and thyme
Pork belly with sweet and sour fennel and plum
Vanilla soft serve with olive oil and salt
Walking and talking, morning and night
Quiet time in the library
Finding a used book of poems in one of my favorite bookstores
Breakfast in the backyard
Spunky kittens climbing trees
Picking and eating ripe, warm-from-the-sun blackberries
Chickens pecking at corncobs
Peter Martinelli's strawberries
Perry's paella to-go
Sitting beneath a blanket, at the beach, on a cool gray day
Sweet pale orange cherry tomatoes
Slim green beans, perfectly cooked
Tiny misshapen new potatoes
Reading in the middle of the day
Sleepy afternoons, and naps
White-tailed Kites at the wetlands
Apricot and coconut cookies dipped in whole milk
Fog on the ridge

Weekend Project

One of Two, 2013

Done.

Two little rustic mats (6" x 7 1/4")  for hot plates, bowls, ramekins, or even small pots.

If you'd like to make your own, it won't take much time. You might even have the materials on hand.

I used a ball of twine, two size 13/9.0mm knitting needles, and scissors.

Cast on 16 stitches and knit, purl, knit, purl each row until you reach about 7 inches (or your desired length) and cast off. Weave in ends.

That's it.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

~Denise

Today

Smiles from Melissa, 2013

Today I am home.  Today is all mine. 
Today all I want I can't seem to find.

Personal Coasters

October, 2012

I decided to open up the shop again. 

Enjoy.

Hmmm...

pretty cotton, 2012

I'm not sure what it is yet.  The pattern tells me it is a dishcloth, but it's just too pretty.  Washcloth?  I thought it might be a trivet, but Merriam-Webster says trivets have legs or feet and are typically made of metal.  A place to rest a hot pot?  A place mat?  Oh, I know.  How about a doily?  But what does one do with a doily?  And must they be circular?

Thank you in advance for your assistance.

xx,
Denise

A Good Day

Contentment, 2012

Knitting with Mom.
Anchovies on pizza.
Prosecco with Dad.

A Life

Noticing, 2012

What makes a life? Experiences. All of them. Miniscule and grand. Good and bad. We are their sum. Walking up the hill with heavy bags full of groceries. Feeling thankful you are able. The McIntosh tasting like lemons after the Gravensteins. Looking up from a book at dusk and noticing everything in the room is glowing pale pink. Responding to this headache. Not letting it win. Writing. Editing. Reading. Making. Anger in response to what wasn't, or what was. Denial. Acceptance. The three nasty little poems you wrote the morning the world felt less than welcoming. Quick rough little drafts. Deciding to show only one, and then taking it down, and putting it back up again, and taking it down once more. Fearing what it might say about you. Listening. Deciding to bring the one back to life, and allow the other two to join it.
Memories. The box stitch in blue. 

Three Quick and Nasty Little Poems

#413

 cotton, 2012

After adding book number 413 (yes, 413...) to my to-read list, the last activity in a short satisfying string, I feel completely settled.  I need nothing else.

The feeling reminds me of my junior year as an undergraduate. My roommate and I, as pedestrians, had been struck by a car and received modest settlements.  I call them modest now, but at the time they seemed very large, large enough for my roommate to purchase a used car.  I however had no interest in a used (or new) car.  The only things I wanted at the time were some fresh white t-shirts, a Walkman, and a good bicycle.

Today my lunch hour has consisted of what seems to me a similar simplicity.  I've eaten two slices of sesame wheat bread with a smashed avocado and a single ak-mak cracker topped with my new favorite cheese, knit a few rows with a soft cotton yarn, and listened to an author interview streamed from the local radio station's archives. 

The author mentioned a book of poetry that had been meaningful to her during difficult times in her life.  This book of poetry, The Dream of a Common Language by Adrienne Rich, is my #413.

New Favorite Cheese
Author Interview
#413

Surroundings

Throne, 2012

Things are different here, very different from the city.  I once lived just a few miles from this cottage, but I've learned that you cannot go back.  Each experience is different, its own, and I like it this way.

Everything seems more peaceful this time, inside and out.  I'm not sure if it is the place, or me. 

The natural landscape to residential buildings ratio is the reverse of what I am used to seeing.  As I sit here, in the tiny loft style bedroom, I look out the window at rolling straw colored hills and dark green trees swaying in the breeze.  The sky is pure blue today, not a cloud in sight.  A horse strolls past every so often and the birds sing with gusto.

When we lounge in the living room I often sit in the chair above, Chris calls it my throne.  He stretches out on the sofa.

There are bees and hummingbirds darting about our little yard.  We even managed to grill over charcoal in a sturdy Weber grill.  This is not something we do often.  We opened a nice bottle of wine.  Chris prepped vegetables.  I was the Grill Master.  And eventually, we ate outside.

One morning we took a nice drive to the coast, ate huevos rancheros, and then perched upon some rocks to look out at the ocean.  It was so soothing we almost fell asleep.

Visiting our favorite trail, we spotted a large orange and black snake, a small brown and yellow snake, and a little burrow filled with the sweetest baby mice.  Hopefully the snakes will not meet the mice, but I know these things do happen.  

The weekends are busier with tourists, but the weekdays are slow and easy.  There is no line for coffee or the post office, the bread is fabulous, and I've discovered a cafe with a very nice BLT.

Today we ate breakfast on a chilly front porch and listened to the neighboring chickens start their day.

Working in the same space is new for us.  We are finding our rhythms and feeling lucky to have planted ourselves in these inspiring surroundings.  Where you are does make a difference.

I'm considering a Sky Scarf. 

All of our seeds are in the ground, a few starts too.  Now we wait.

pattern

Too predictable?

Book Bay Find, 2012

My husband has been out of town and I've found myself with much quiet time to think and explore. Rather than embarking on an array of new adventures, I've comfortably slipped back into my former single-girl ways and have been treating myself to simple pleasures. I've also been keeping very strange hours. I've seen 2 AM more than once during this past week. Oh, well, all will be back to normal soon enough. Why not embrace the quiet and the strange.

I'm reading Eric Rohmer's Six Moral Tales. I had no idea he'd written these stories before he was certain he'd become a filmmaker. The book of short stories came with my Criterion Collection box set (Thank you, Christopher). Rohmer explains in the preface that his stories became films because he did not succeed in writing them. I wholeheartedly disagree. I'm in the middle of reading his third moral tale and feel smitten with all I've read thus far.

I've also added a book to my collection (see above). Yes, I admit without apology that I was drawn to this book by its fabulous 1961 cover, but I bought it due to Celia Dale's Broadsheet description. A little used bookstore browsing and buying is always fun, but especially so when the bookstore is just beside a beautiful bay view.

I'm slowly working my way through a new-to-me chocolate bar from Belgium, a departure for me because it is milk chocolate (with speculoos) and I am always partial to dark. It's nice, but very sweet. I'm pretty sure I'll be returning to dark the next time I'm in the mood for chocolate, but if you like sweet milk chocolate this could be for you.

Two new candles in little gold tins are scenting my apartment, one lavender and one vanilla.

And I've brought home a skein of Italian cashmere/silk/merino yarn, in the most beautiful red (#45). I'm knitting a simple cowl.

One last item... I made Pasta all'Amatriciana last night, River Cafe style. Yum.

Too predictable? Perhaps, but I don't mind.

How do you treat yourself? What are your simple pleasures?

Six Moral Tales
Book Bay
Lynne Reid Banks
Dolfin's Milk Chocolate with Speculoos Bar
Seda France's Travel Tin Candles
Filatura Di Crosa's Superior in #45 Lipstick Red
Superior Cowl
Pasta all'Amatriciana

FO

Hat, 2012

I kept meaning to ask the ever-inspiring Rachel what an FO was, and then I figured it out. It's knitspeak for a finished object (knitted object).

So here's my most recent FO. A hat. I finished it this morning and I'm so pleased. I bought the yarn from Sophie at Bluebird Yarn in Sausalito. The yarn is a Merino Wool/Alpaca/Silk blend (Mirasol Sulka in Wine, Shade: 203). I found the Colour Sparks pattern on Ravelry. It is also available on Etsy. As you can see, I decided against the flower. I just wasn't feeling flowery.

It knit up quickly, well, there was a bit of drama last night, but it was silly, so I won't get into it. It fits perfectly. Completing it was a nice way to begin a day.

And that's not all. I recently finished some pretty sweet fingerless gloves. I used Madelinetosh yarn for the first time. Laurie from Greenwich Yarn (here in San Francisco) thought I would like it, and I did. Knitting with it was a treat.

Watch out, I'm moving, albeit slowly, beyond scarves...

Adrift

glimpse through a doorway near 23rd & 9th, 2011

notes:

Much is neutral. Not a lot of color, yet as soon as you note it, there it is. A young man in a bright red and white checked shirt, just outside the cafe, smoking a fat cigar. It is 8:30 AM. And there was the beach ball, yesterday. And the young slim bright-lipped barista with the red bandana delicately folded and tied atop her pretty blonde hair.

People know each other here, in this cafe, the cafe where they hide dark chocolate in their pumpkin muffins. It's nice, the knowing each other, and one of the main reasons I've returned. During my first visit I found a disgruntled and handsome middle aged gentleman, weathered jeans and tweed blazer, showering the bright-lipped barista with all of his charm. I could tell it wasn't something he offered up often. Kind of sweet to see her draw it forth. He was sure to tell her when he departed that he wouldn't be back for a week because he'd be off on assignment. It sounded very important. I understand his desire. She hurries no one and elegantly glides to and fro behind the counter. Her description of their carrot muffin is downright eloquent.

I appreciate the comfort of familiarity, even if it is not my own. I'm feeling a little homesick and frankly, adrift. I'm between the place I was born and the place I currently call home. I'll return to that current place for a short while before traveling to the place I called home during most of 2008. I'll be there for my birthday, looking out from a glass tree house. I'm lucky, I know, but sometimes I wake up and have to look around before I know where I am.

Last night I dreamed I had an affair with the young Big Night era Stanley Tucci. I was knitting his wife a sweater. Yes, I said wife, it was an adulterous dream. Oh my. Adulterous, but tastefully edited. One moment I was trying on the sweater for dear Stanley and the next the film jumps straight to the frame where he is laying on my bed shirtless, all else is beneath the pristine white sheets, and I'm exclaiming oh no! what have we done? Next I'm relaying the entire drama to my good friend Isabella Rossellini.

And then I'm awake and trying to recall it all for Chris while laughing hysterically.

They are playing The Big Chill soundtrack in the cafe this morning. A film from 1983. A reminder of how quickly time passes. It's an appropriately cool and crisp autumn day, dead leaves scattered on the street and sidewalk. I'm about to walk back out into it, past three yellow barstools, four succulents, and a waiting scone.