T-Shirts by Uta

Uta and I made this T-shirt as a gift for Papa H's birthday. The shark drawing is by Uta, and in our modest and albeit biased opinion we think it was a great success. This is only a simple iron on transfer, but if there is interest, we are considering upping the quality to silkscreen and making them available to friends and family. There will be other images; varied animals, robots, and Uta's infamous 'V' designs (I will post about this particular phenomenon soon). More to come....

New haircut

I guess we should have predicted it. Taking Uta to see his first Jet Li movie = Uta wants to be Jet Li. Need to embody the spirit of Jet Li? Uta'a solution: Shave your head, of course. 

Uta before Jet Li.

Uta after.

Playing Indian

Playing Indian, stick races down a river bend, skipping stones, sleeping in the car, smashing a watermelon, spotting deer, visiting the stone cathedral, fishing for tadpoles, tasting wild watercress, eating gnats (intentionally!), new names (chickadee, cowbird, goldfinch, nuthatch), tossing up prayers for a dead robin, watering the garden, washing the cars, roasting hot dogs on the bonfire, listening to peepers, balancing on a fallen tree to cross the great swamp, pockets full with precious rock finds, discovering garnets, treasures from the bottle shop, eating too much ice cream, picking daffodils, playing all alone outside, looking for signs of beavers, crawling inside a hollow tree. Very happy days. Thanks to S-e, Grandpa Bill, Grandma S, Luna, and Kisa for such a lovely visit.

Happy Dance (and a little scared)

Stir Crazy

Thank you to little Grandma and little Grandpa for letting us stay in their home last weekend. The chaos of our apartment renovation hit its peak and we desperately needed a reprieve. We have been living out of boxes (floor to ceiling boxes) for well over a month, and needless to say we are all a little stir crazy. Happy to report that our floors are now finished, level and shiny, and hope of reclaiming a normal life (and a home) is slowly rising.

Yankee Stadium

To honor Grandpa T's 62nd birthday, we all played hooky and went on a tour of Yankee Stadium. It was a great chance to see the stadium from the inside out. The highlight for Uta was walking through the tunnel in the stadium's belly that leads the players from the locker room out into the light of the big game. He got to sit in the dugout and then run along the edge of the foul line throwing his body into the cushioned walls that line the outfield.

If you know Uta then you know his love for baseball. He was born loving it. As early as two years old he was hitting the ball, granted his bat was as thick as a loaf of bread, but still! At three he would draw a crowd at the play ground as he socked every pitch I threw him way over my head.  He spent the better part of the last two years of his life pretending to be Matsui and Jeter (occasionally Posada). This year, like clockwork, on the first day of spring he woke up and immediately began rifeling through his clothes in a desperate search to locate his Yankee uniform. (Something he didn't even mention once during the winter months.) And the night before opening day Uta had a dream he was discovered by Joe Torre at the playground and signed to the Yankees on the spot. Baseball is in his blood. And the Yankees, well anyone who knows Grandpa T knows that for him rooting for the Yankees is right up there with air and water when it comes to sustaining life. So naturally, Uta loves the Yankees too.

But as the tour of Yankee Stadium drew to a close it suddenly dawned on Uta just what it will mean to lose this piece of history. (Perhaps I am putting words into his mouth.) For Uta it is not about history, it is about the big love that he has right now. He has never had to lose anyone that he loves. Yankee Stadium will be the first. Right on the spot, with this new understanding of the imminent loss, Uta plummeted, completely grief stricken. He was inconsolably angry and sad. Tears streamed down his face as he repeatedly asked why the Yankees needed a new stadium. Nobody could come up with an answer to pacify him.

Uncle J had three words of consolation, "Lets Go Mets!"

Pine Cone War

Never underestimate the great satisfaction there is to be had in throwing things at your kids. Of course I'm not talking about anything that could hurt them, no sharp objects please. Pine cones make a perfect choice. They absorb all the force of the gesture and hit their target like a tap on the shoulder, much like a badminton birdie, you know the way you can whack the hell out of it with your racket but always the birdie falls through the air in a slow lazy arc.

Last week our dear friends, Trevor, Thi and Hien, came from California for a visit. The highlight of our time together was a spontaneous pine cone war that erupted in a tiny patch of grass that we found on the way to the opening of my show. The kids started it. We stopped to let off a little steam, grass being the best medicine for kids, and knowing that the opening would be just short of torture for them. The no touch, no yell, no run thing is just a little oppressive to say the least, a lot to ask of a two year old and a five year old. As soon as the kids discovered the pine cones they ran about scooping them all up like they were golden eggs on Easter morning. Then, just as quickly, they started pelting us with them. They encouraged us to throw them back, Uta with words 'Hit Me, Hit me" and Hien with sly expressions.