Due to the lovely weather on Saturday Priscilla and I were able to finish our tree house. It is not much of a tree house, more of a raised platform of old wood with a slanted roof and some slots and shelves. All of the sides but one are open to the air and we have procured some transparent tarp for rain days. To consecrate our new artist space i.e. secret hideout I got an old china tea set from goodwill and we had a tea party with a thermos of hot water and some shortbread cookies. I allowed Anabel who came with us some tuna. Scott insisted on pouring brandy in his tea.
On Tuesday I will make good use of the tea set again because we have a tea planned with Garrett. Garrett is a man who lives in a tent shelter not far from our hideout. He has his lean-to fairly near to the path that has been worn through the bushes. Most days he sits out front of the tent on a log reading old paperbacks so we got to know him on our treks through the brush and he became curious about the scraps of boards that we were carting by. Garrett is about 50 (maybe) and actively chose to go live in the in between space to "get away from it" as he says.
Showing posts with label Green. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Green. Show all posts
22 May 2011
02 May 2011
Green Space: liminal in the city limits
Despite the fact that it is 47 degrees and cloudy today, I started a spring building project. An outdoor spring building project. Some of you may be wrinkling your brows in confusion. Yes, I still do live in the upstairs portion of an apartment complex with no yard or garage. I am also singularly inept when it comes to building and tools in general.
This morning, however, saw me wielding a power drill and hammer that I borrowed from Priscilla. (I also borrowed Priscilla to help me with the building project).If you were not the all omniscient aforementioned morning you might have been hard-pressed to actually SEE me.
Lately I have taken to exploring the green spaces within the city of Seattle and it is in one of these spaces that I have decided to build a tree house. It is (or will be) a fairly low to the ground tree house. It will mainly consist of a low platform and some shelves and it is where we plan to write (me) and paint (Priscilla). (It may also include general loafing around punctuated by drinking and smoking on the part of Priscilla's boyfriend).
We found the prefect spot last Saturday by following the trails worn through the city greenspaces. I think the trails are made by homeless and transient people who sometimes set up tents and blankets in the underbrush.
I really like these spaces and the idea of people living here because despite being in the center of the city these spaces, like freeway underpasses and sides of railway tracks, are somehow liminal to the bulk of city life.
We live so much of our lives next to these spaces. Driving over and by. Houses, playgrounds and shops just a few blocks away. And yet for most of us these spaces don't exist. They are in-between spaces existing within but not as part of the cityscape.
The people who inhabit these spaces are also liminal, living in but not as a part of normal city life.
So, Pricilla and I have decided to base our creative space in the in-between space. Also, I have always wanted a secret tree fort since I was a little girl.
If you had thought I was going to disclose the location of our hideaway you were mistaken. It is somewhere Other and close by. It will suffice to say it is well hidden in the branches and far away from the trail and clandestine tent encampments. After all we are the strangers in this neighborhood.
This morning, however, saw me wielding a power drill and hammer that I borrowed from Priscilla. (I also borrowed Priscilla to help me with the building project).If you were not the all omniscient aforementioned morning you might have been hard-pressed to actually SEE me.
Lately I have taken to exploring the green spaces within the city of Seattle and it is in one of these spaces that I have decided to build a tree house. It is (or will be) a fairly low to the ground tree house. It will mainly consist of a low platform and some shelves and it is where we plan to write (me) and paint (Priscilla). (It may also include general loafing around punctuated by drinking and smoking on the part of Priscilla's boyfriend).
We found the prefect spot last Saturday by following the trails worn through the city greenspaces. I think the trails are made by homeless and transient people who sometimes set up tents and blankets in the underbrush.
I really like these spaces and the idea of people living here because despite being in the center of the city these spaces, like freeway underpasses and sides of railway tracks, are somehow liminal to the bulk of city life.
We live so much of our lives next to these spaces. Driving over and by. Houses, playgrounds and shops just a few blocks away. And yet for most of us these spaces don't exist. They are in-between spaces existing within but not as part of the cityscape.
The people who inhabit these spaces are also liminal, living in but not as a part of normal city life.
So, Pricilla and I have decided to base our creative space in the in-between space. Also, I have always wanted a secret tree fort since I was a little girl.
If you had thought I was going to disclose the location of our hideaway you were mistaken. It is somewhere Other and close by. It will suffice to say it is well hidden in the branches and far away from the trail and clandestine tent encampments. After all we are the strangers in this neighborhood.
11 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde II: distraction
In which there is an unsolved mystery, a pencil shortage and a dog.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
07 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde
In which I go shopping in a public restroom.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
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