The Light Outside My Window

It's been so long since I've written anything for this blog. I feel terrible for letting it sit untouched. All of my physical & mental efforts, unfortunately, have been going towards work. So now, to play catch up, here are some pretty photos I took--all relating to types of light against my window.

(Ok, the city scape is not a view from my house, but I had to include it.)

Don't Lose That American Spirit

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Maybe all it took was my moving away from perfect Orange County to realize the real issues at stake and that my vote does matter. But this was the first year I actually cared about what I was voting for. Living in a city of 812,816 people can do that to you. Living on your own, paying for you home, and living without proper healthcare also shakes up the apathetic voter.

Unlike rallies at Berkeley or camping for the Occupy movement, voting has a direct outcome. Change happens through the course of one day (backed by years of well thought political campaigning). Though you may think it small, your vote makes a difference because you are exercising your right not to sit at home and let the nation choose for you. Participating in the great debate shows that you care for America's future.

It's easy for people to think that it doesn't matter if what you voted for wins or loses because your vote is just one in a sea of millions. But then why go to the polls? 

Here's my San Francisco spin on why it's important to vote: If we thought of voting like recycling then we would have a much cleaner world. It’s the same mentality. People easily think I am one person so my actions aren't going to hurt anyone if I do or do not choose to recycle. Multiply that thought by a city of 812,816 and now we've got a lot of plastic bags reeking havoc on our environmental well being. 

There’s an overabundance of careless people out there, apathetic to our environment because they think others will do the 'hard' work for them, they don't think they--as single individuals--can make an impact, or they just simply do not give a damn. But the same can be said about voting. Some people believe that their individual vote will not change the scheme of things, so they choose to sit at home and let the nation decide for them. Those kinds of people, frankly, don’t get it. Why then wake up each day and go to work? Why do anything at all with such a bland attitude? It’s depressing. If you want positive change to occur, it all starts with a single individual. Living in the United States of America, we are supposed to be working collectively towards such goal. Am I being idealistic? Sure. But I don’t support those who decide not to make a political decision at all. Hey man, where’s your American spirit?

Gray Matters

This post isn't really about anything in particular. I am only expressing the fact that I haven't been good about regularly writing longer entries for this blog. Lately I've been concentrating on my photography and my cooking (see above). For me, each of these arts--writing, photography, cooking--over lap in regards to aesthetic, concentration, and form. 


Writing: 

I write when I feel inspired and every writer gets her inspiration in different ways. My writing comes in waves; waves of interest, motivation, focus, and momentum. Occasionally I am hit with random inspiration and every so often my ideas feel endless. Other times I sit down and choose a topic that's been floating about my head and try to pick apart or compose into understandable words. (Hence, what I am doing now.)


Photography:

I've been snapping photos on the reg without ever taking it seriously. I am not trying to make a living off it. I only want to share my view of the world with those around me. The reason I feel so adamant about doing so isn't about me at all. (Well, maybe a little.) It's because I feel overwhelmed by romance in this world. Yes, I am in love with the world. My only hope with photography is to nudge those that don't take the time to look up at the flock of migrating birds in the sky or look down at the two o'clock shadows cast by maple trees. It is those people, hopefully, that I make notice a thing or two of the world's everyday wonders. Even if what I am saying is all a cliche and it's all been done before, that's fine. Beauty is everywhere. Even if it's constantly the same thing over and over that I notice, all the better. My reasoning is to continue--always--to be on the lookout for it. There can never be too much beauty. * 

Cooking:

I guess it's no chore to cook if you spend almost 1.5 hours each time preparing dinner repeatedly. Because my prospective of cooking-as-work has completely shifted to cooking-for-fun, I adore it. Throwing together good food with thought and effort is the best part. I've learned to let go of the recipe-as-bible mentality and just wing it, which allows me to flex my creativity and feel accomplished once I see my idea through.
 


*Don't get me wrong when I toss around the term beauty. I am not only referring to it in the tradition sense, but also the all-encompassing beauty: that which is found in the sad or ugly.

**Photographed above is, well, a cheater's version of homemade pumpkin pancakes. It's the boxed mix from Trader Joe's. :)

Summer into Autumn

*All photos taken by Andrea in San Francisco from September through October 2012.

Sun Rose High

October decided to greet San Francisco with the summer it's been missing. And greet it did. It got up to the high 90s in downtown this week. It is probably the first time I ever wanted to stay in doors on a beautiful day and not walk all over town. Intense heat is not made for San Francisco. Everyone looks miserable on the bus. The streets smell even worse, if you can imagine. And when icecream can't be enjoyed because it is so hot outside then you know there's a definite problem!

I shouldn't admit this, but I already miss the cloudy days sitting in doors with a hot cup of chai and a good read. I won't have to wait too long...Oh look, the cold weather is already back.

Riding Buses For A Hobby

As a Southern Californian advocate for public transportation I just had to live in San Francisco. Moving liberated me from my automotive chains. No longer do I worry about finding a parking spot, paying outrageous gasoline fees, or receiving a ticket. But the transition from LA freeways to life on the bus took some getting used to. Often I am away from home the entire day, so I learned how to be resourceful and organized before venturing out in the city. I always ask myself, “What’s the forecast? Where am I going and how do I get there? Do I have enough food to last me seven hours?” Not that I’ve become a nomad, but living in San Francisco has brought out my adventurous spirit.

Though Belle and Sebastian sing in The State That I am In, “Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad/Why don't you lead me to a living end,” taking the bus is more pleasant than most would believe. You have shelter; you don’t have the anxiety that driving brings; you can sleep, read, listen to music, meditate or daydream. Of course you’ve got to accept what comes with travelling by bus: a mix bag of personalities, being off schedule, breaking down, and having less personal space. But anyway you commute there is always some small sacrifice. I find myself riding the bus, for what feels like 60% of my waking time. Because of it I’ve become more productive with other aspects of my life. I base when I leave the house, how much I am going to carry, and where I’ll end up in the city all on riding the bus. No longer do I sit in traffic in Southern California or feel too lazy to commute. Here in San Francisco the bus has become an extension of my home—a place where I can sit and ponder as the world pans by.   

Trouble Coffee Speaks the Truth

Neil Young & Stevie Wonder have left just as quickly as they've come. Now we can get on with our lives.

The Night Fog

Growing up in Southern California, I have distinct memories of hot, restless summer nights. With all of my windows open, and one sheet loosely draped over my legs, I would eventually fall asleep to the cricket's song. This year is the first summer in which I've experience no summer at all. It is hard for me to fathom. The calendar reads July, but outside the fog is quick-moving and thick. In August I grew accustomed to wearing three layers minimum, always having my toes covered, plus sporting the same long coat each day. I've learned not to let those few clear-sky days fool me. If the sun is out, even in the Richmond District, I know it won't be warm when I return home that evening.

Without having a real summer I try to make believe one exists every once in a while. Sometimes I'll go outside wearing sandals and a sunhat, fully aware of the inevitable suffering the night fog will bring upon my return home.

*This photo was taken by Andrea in the Richmond District on an August night. 

What's Cookin'?

There is nothing like not cookin' this summer. Just whip up something on the fly. It's easy in the heat, plus delicious to enjoy in a shady spot. Here's my cold couscous salad with sauteed kale, onions, garlic and fresh tomato, cucumber, radish + one hard boiled egg. No dressing necessary. The summer vegetables have all the flavor in the world. 

Architectural Bits--A Tour of SF Exteriors

*All photos were taken by Andrea in San Francisco in 2012 from June through July.
*The sketch drawing is by Paul Madonna.

Build That Dark Wood Stained Craft Table

There’s always been this trend of looking nostalgically towards the past. After a few decades, we look back. Either we hate the fashions or we wear them with pride. These last couple of years has been heavily influenced by minimalism. We crave the simple life: farms, rooster calls, summer linen drying in the breeze, homemade jam, shared gatherings underneath the stars. Currently, blogs are ranting about how you must DIY your life—drink mint lemonade or Tennessee whiskey out of mason jars, sew some flowers on your shirt, and collect shells for a necklace. It’s been enough solicitation that I am starting to get sick of it. Why do we need to be constantly reminded of the simple pleasures in life that already exist? If they are so simple, then we shouldn’t need to make an endless effort to complete them. Why has slowing down become exceedingly hard for us to achieve?

Perhaps our forgetfulness is linked to technology. We’ve got everything we could want at our fingertips. We are lazy. Let’s watch another episode of Portlandia. Take-out sounds good tonight. We aren’t required to physically work for our food like our father’s father’s did in the past—hunting deer and slow cooking it over the fire. Dinner comes in a can now. The grocery store has everything we could ever want, year round. Unfortunately, that isn’t how nature works. We shouldn’t be allowed to buy a banana from Jamaica or Kiwi from Australia 365 days a year. Nonetheless we do it because we have outsmarted Mother Nature. Thus, our own skills have turned society around full circle. We are at the point where we can’t think for ourselves. (I always use a calculator because I avoid doing mathematical equations in my head at all costs.) We longingly gaze back at where we started from: simplicity in the 1800s never smelled sweeter (minus the diseases).  

We don’t, however, live in the age of Thoreau where we can chill at Walden Pond for unlimited months and write about dandelion seeds scattered in the wind. We’ve got work to do. But, in today’s tech world, with everything able and ready for us, we should have a lot more time to make that dark wood stained craft table seen in Kinfolk. So what’ the problem? We are over stuffing our schedules with additional work. We are neglecting our leisure agenda and not setting aside enough time to do things we enjoy. Also, the thought of making something ourselves is tiresome when everything else comes instantaneously. What we need is to reprioritize.

I guess all of those fancy blog posts about listening to the sound of the waves or making your own apartment herb garden have worthwhile intentions. Though it’s all I see 24/7 on the blogs that I read, it is necessary to keep repeating the mantra: Slow down. Enjoy your life. Slowing down takes time. That is the entire point. And in the twenty-first century, every day gets harder and harder to move into this backward mindset. Just the same as setting a morning alarm, we have to remind ourselves that we are living to live.

Words + photo by Andrea Dumovich

The Joy of Being

Eternity In An Afternoon – by Rebecca Martin / Kinfolk Issue 4

“The days are long,” say other moms who see me toting my baby around. “But the years are short,” they always add. They mean carpe diem, or something like it: this time won’t last forever, so enjoy the moments while she’s still small. But in my experience, the days fly. Between lifting her out of her crib at daybreak and laying her down for the night, I feel like I’m chasing down the clock.

             I pull her from the crib, change her diaper and her clothes (sometimes twice, if I’m unlucky), and head for the kitchen. I’m always surprised: eight-thirty already? But the glowing green numbers on the stovetop don’t lie. Breakfast is a longer meal than it used to be, and I’m learning to savor the calm time with my daughter; the carpe diem lesson applies here. But then we’re off to play, and in no time it seems, to sleep again: morning nap. If I’m disciplined, I write. I fill up an hour and a half with words and imaginings. Otherwise, I twiddle the time away on food prep and house straightening and blogs and emails. Either way, the wake-up cry sounds from below sooner than I expect, and I’m down to the baby’s room for diapering, lunch, errands, more play if we can squeeze it in, and then another nap, the afternoon one.

            Here is where the hours begin to stretch out. I allow myself a couch sit and a drink: coffee if it’s an early nap, wine if it’s later. I read, I doze, I watch something on the BBC and stitch on an embroidery piece that’s been lying around for several months. And I start to feel antsy. Nap time is me time, and yes, I savor it. But now I grow a little lonely, especially in the waning afternoon light. I wander the upstairs indecisively. I go down to the kitchen and heat up milk. I make sure the sippy cup is washed and ready. I check the stovetop clock. I actually stalk the nursery door. And then I hear it! The first peep of waking.

            I sweep up the baby and we sit, together, snuggled in the armchair by the dining room window. She is warm and soft, still halfway between sleep and waking. She drinks her afternoon milk and leans into me. I give her a squeeze and look out the window, lit by white lights from the inside and sunset glow from the outside.

            “Never wake a sleeping baby,” everyone says. But for this, I would. This is our tradition. This is my favorite part of the day. The time may fly, but this is the moment I want to keep for eternity.

(The painting "Mother" is by Mary Cassatt)

Picnic Perfect

(How jealous am I of that portable picnic record player. Photo by Frolic.)

Happy July 1st! How can you have a lovely picnic? It's easy. All you need is preparation and a willingness to have a nice time with friends. Get over your laziness and do something fun!

For my picnic yesterday I made asparagus, goat cheese, lemon, tarragon pasta. I found the recipe from Smitten Kitchen here. It's incredibly simple. The only problem is that the asparagus and goat cheese cost a bit more than you may be willing to spend if on a budget. Still, it's entirely worth it. I made a pound of tasty pasta for eleven dollars. I served it cold.

For dessert, you've got to try this strawberry-rhubarb pie. It screams summer with bright pink and red strawberry juice that will stain your clothes. I improvised at the last second by making two pies instead of one. Since I only prepared enough dough for one pie I ended up not having a pie crust for the tops. It turned out fine, though it might not win a beauty pie contest. I was worried that the filling was too juicy and would make the crust saggy, not to mention challenging to eat. But after the first bite I knew that it turned out precisely perfect. I would only recommend toning down the sugar suggested in the recipe. The strawberries surely suffice as an added sweetness. Make it here. You'll want to prep the dough the night before. It's super easy and makes for a very worthy crust. You can read up on the dough recipe here.

(That's my strawberry-rhubarb pie.)

Why This Discrimination, SF x LA?

LA loves SF. So why do SF people have to hate on LA? Oh, you know, LA is very superficial and clogged with smog. When they insult LA, they don't even know what they are talking about. Sure, go to LA without knowing the right places visit. Where will you end up? In Hollywood; at some club; a creepy dive bar, glitter bar or both; stuck in traffic, always. That is all pretty miserable, so I can understand why someone's perception of LA would be skewed. But Los Angeles has so much history, culture, ethnically diverse people, and hidden beauty to offer. You only need patience and an open mind to find it.

LA has problems. As do all cities. But running away from the problems only inflates them further. I once was visiting San Francisco and speaking with a respectable urban planner. I asked him if I should focus my concerns on Los Angeles—the sprawl, the traffic, and the waste—instead of on San Francisco, a city that is already environmentally aware. He laughed and said you need to get up here. That was it. No debate or profound thoughts about why it would be beneficial to work in a city that needs help the most. You need to be here. I understand that being surround by likeminded people is always encouraging to get work done. But I can’t let all the other problems be set off to the side because they are harder to fix. 

My heart cries when I overhear someone speak poorly of LA. San Francisco yuppie, you don't understand what you are saying! Why not go to Los Angeles and truly get lost for once. You may find something lovely just when you think all has disintegrated. Isn’t that, though, the root of all discrimination? Misunderstanding, incomprehension, and estranged feelings lead us to label something we don’t get as weird or wrong. 

California is a vast land. It makes sense that people fall into the trap: comparing two wonderful cities that divide the state from North to South is tempting. I once believed one city superior to the other. But over more frequent visits to both it became clear to me that they aren’t even on the same level of comparison. Each place is amazing by its unique form. When you enter Northern California from the South, it feels like you’ve stepped into another time zone. The air feels different, as well as people’s mentalities. People confuse the difference within our state as one being better than the other. It’s fine to have an opinion or a preference. Those that simply do not like Los Angeles because they have had one bad experience do not, however, have the right to negatively speak about a place they aren’t familiar with.

Just open your eyes. Living in the state of California, we are lucky to have it all. And we really do have it all. San Diego has its laidback beach vibe. Orange County is comfortable with breath-taking scenery. Los Angeles is a pocket of cities within cities, which makes it fantastic for exploring. Santa Barbara is a luscious mountain landscape painted on sand. Further up the coast includes numerous cozy-costal and inland farm towns that I cannot begin to list. Driving up the 101, it if feels like the state’s growth can’t be stopped. It goes, and goes, and keeps going past hundreds of curvy miles and straightly paved roads through deserts, beaches, forests, farmland, suburbs, and average-looking cities. We’ve got it all, and we are so lucky to hop on a plane and be transported from SF to LA in one hour. So when you tell me that you think there is no comparison to San Francisco, I might agree. When you tell me you don’t like Los Angeles at all, I am open to hearing your valid, well-thought reasons. But when it comes down to a one line elitist remark about how awful LA is compared to SF, I won’t be listening.  

*Photo taken 2/19/2012 in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, California by Andrea Dumovich

This Week in Summation

June 20: The city was looking good. Actually--spectacular! All the locals were shocked by this freaky SoCal weather that has greeted the bay for the past month.

 This is the best place to get a $3.50 banh mi in the Tenderloin. I am not just saying this because I know that Real Estate ate here. It truly is the greatest. :)

You can't avoid the street art. 

Dash Jacket and Moon Pearl are on tour. This is probably the weirdest space they could have played: a meat-locker in the less-than-pretty part of Oakland.

June 21: Mojo Bicycle Cafe is rad. It feels a little like teleportation--bringing me straight back to Berlin. People sit outside, drink beer, and share conversation. It's intimate; it's cozy. Inside the music is comfortably hip. They offer Ritual and De La Paz. You sip, they fix your bike. Pop-up Rice Paper Scissors serves there too. This Thursday was part of Banh Mi Thursdays. The Beef Pho Roll was a clean appetizer/meal: sauteed hanger steak and herbs, wrapped in fresh rice noodle sheets. My friend had the Vegetarian "Smoked Duck" soy/wheat-based "duck" with king trumpet mushrooms. Though skeptical at first, I was proved wrong. The "duck" tasted like a sweet sauteed tofu. Shall I come again? Um, I'm on my way right now!

It chooses you.

June 22: I've been wanting to check this place out--Mixed Nuts. It's right next to my house and sells things dear to my taste, such as greenery/antique/housewares.

June 22: Tu Lan Vietnamese Restaurant needs no review except that it is really excellent all round for the food, price, and hole-in-the-wall feel. Later that day I checked out the San Francisco Historical Society located in the Old Mint Building. The current exhibit features Kim Novak's paintings, which were never before revealed to the public. The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of: San Francisco and The Movies exhibit featured primarily posters and trivia. The funniest part was the Vertigo room. The narration tried to make visitors feel as if they were Carlotta herself, about to jump into the bay. The fog-horn playing in repetition was a nice touch.

I ended the day with a bikeride out to the Legion of Honor. (Hardly a bikeride--it takes about 15 minutes.) As I sat in deep contemplation, staring out onto the Golden Gate, I noticed a newlywed couple approach this stretch of incredible beauty. They totally stole my idea!

June 23+ 24: SF Pride--a lawless time in the city. I was late to work due to this human conglomerate.