A Few Days of Leisure, Mother and young Daughter...

First stop, caffeine. Obviously.



Hours and hours at/in the pool. Obviously.





A late afternoon stroll to the river beach. Our lovely Siuslaw. 



Picture time.

More picture. 

The River.

What? I think I'm hearing something...it's important, for sure!

No. Here's how you do it. Stop listening, and give it some lip!

Complete surrender.

Where Unencumbered Meets Obsessive.

Yes, friends, it's that time of year again!  You might think, swim? Bike? Run?  Oh, no, on the contrary, it's time to crochet some hot-rockin' wear.  It's warm, we're sitting in a lounge chair, and hell if we're going to dither all our time away with a magazine or even our smartphone.  Girl, it's time to finish those projects that have been sitting around all through the nasty season.  And when I say nasty, that word has so many delicious implications I can't begin to tell.  First, a moment to acknowledge the completion of the hot-pink cover-up.  Started this thing as a tank top, last summer, even as a potential gift for training buddy, Jilly.  When Jilly announced that she hates pink, what was I to do?  Immediately begin shaping as a full-length rrrrarrrfest for summer 2013.  And here we go:
I can't say I loved working on this thing. 

OK, I'll say it: "rrrrrooooaaaarrrrr!!!!"

the lovely fisherman knot that weaves the whole object together got tiresome, and I had some difficulty with sizing ( I figured it would be hanging off of me and I'd be stuck with a sack.   When I finally shrank the dimensions, my method was haphazard at best. What can I say? Sometimes the idea is more important to me than the execution).  Finished this bad boy ON my forty-sixth birthday.  Hell, if this dress don't say Cougar, nothing else will.  I'm in the game for good and that's where I'll leave it.  Woman, Hook, Italian 100% Cotton Yarn (mille fille) and I'm ready for whatever.  Next Installment, Ashby wants one for herself, and naturally I have a bit of this delicious yarn leftover.  But of course!  It may take another year, but most likely ready for Door County--love shaking up some protestant sensibilities up north, and this is the game that'll do. 

And on to my Ode To Crochet Goddesses!  Doris Chan, as has been mentioned multiple times on this very blog-site, has created yet another feast for the hook and eye.  She calls this the Rockin-Red Dress, from Interweave Crochet, but it's actually an ode to Leiutenant Uhura's Dress in Star Trek. 

Peter Nolan loves Uhura, and so what would I do but re-create this fab streamlined one-piece dress?  We're far from completion, but when I ordered the yarn, months ago, I knew I had my work cut out for me.  This, as we say in the trade, is a design meritting serious, or complete concentration.  Not for the faint of heart, or for anyone who is even thinking about multi-tasking.  Started work on reading the pattern a few times in the deep dark months, but there was no respite from the insanity.  Now, with a few days on the pristine, still, Oregon Coast, I am able to read, study, puzzle, ravel, and unravel.  My heart is a-flutter. We are actually making progress:


A swatch. Standard quiver pattern.  This took months, alone.

As I muddle through the pattern, my brain loosens up, ever so much.  Deciphering a Doris Chan pattern feels like a complicated math or programming problem.  Of course this implies that I think that Doris Chan is about the most bad-ass programmer on the planet.  Yup.  She's one smart cookie and her work is so incredibly beautiful.  

Day four in Oregon.  Yes, this is 10 full rows of the pattern and it's my yoke/neckline!!!!

Here we are poolside.  I'm finally breathing the satisfaction of knowing that we're not going to be ripping out the first four rows for ever more, in fact, there is hope.  This deadly soy-silk variegated yarn is going to be put to good use and Uhura's dress will live on, further into history. 

Unencumbered Meets Obsessive.

And then there is this. Woman, hook, yarn, sun, poolside. Need I say more? Unencumberd on steroids.  Pump me up with some free time and some fresh air, detox after a long run with my seventy year old companion, throw some blue water, chlorine and poolside chat into the mix?  Golden.  Now why was I slamming the Kava Tea last week??  Who cares.  Unencumbered Meets Obsessive.  This is where fulfillment lives.  Go out there and find it for yourself, because lord knows nobody's gonna let you feel this good on your own.

At a certain age, a woman who can no longer feel her fingers or her toes...

...will say, decidedly, "I quit."  I think that I found that age this weekend.

Prior to race day, Wolf Lake looks inviting to triathletes-in-training.

This is what was blasting through my head as I sat on a grassy field in Hammond, Indiana this morning trying to use my fingers for an array of activities required to finish Leon's "World's Fastest" Triathlon. This race is hosted in what can only be described as a post-industrial wasteland landscape of oil refineries, blocked-off highways, and low slung bungalows originally built to be inhabited by the employees of steel mills and the like.

Kim and me, pre-race.

We arrived after leaving home at a relatively civilized 6AM.  The weather, we knew, would be difficult.  Although it was about 60 degrees this morning, we knew that temps would drop as the morning progressed.  What's more, we saw a dark, ominous cloud heading towards the park where we were racking our bikes and getting ready for race start.  Michael loaned me a jacket, because I had been optimistic enough to assume that arm warmers would do the job.  After waiting a while for race start we were on a dock, anxious to get into the water, because we knew that the water would be warmer than the air.  No worries about the swells, it proved to be a manageable, relatively smooth swim.  Once out and getting ready for the bike, still not too bad, but once I was on my ride I realized that I had no clue as to how to zip the jacket while riding, put on my arm-warmers, or navigate a course that has no less than eight turn-arounds.  I was reaching for the zipper and fumbling around as someone passed joking that neither of us had trained to zip our jackets on the bike.  It was old friend Sam that I hadn't seen in a few years.  Thrilled at his sight, I settled into enjoying a day with so many friends.  The jacket proved to be a terrible nuisance by about mile 9 of 26, so I acted like the race was an ironman and stopped to take it off (sure sign of an ultra-distance racer--or a novice), at which point girlfriend Kim grabbed at me and waved. Kim was to have a fantastic race!

When I was almost half way through the ride and I felt pretty good.  Nothing amazing, but fast and strong for an old broad.  As these races tend to be, lots of men, with a smattering of younger women and us hardy old souls, the tough older women.  The older I get, the faster these other older women get.  Amazing.  Rolling up and down with major wind I was truly awe-struck by the scenery.  What I would do to have my camera on this surreal route.

Phot. Gary Cialdella (web images)

The pock-marked and cracked highway, rolling forward, in it's own gray-ness, with white oil refineries and power lines marking the sky, grey clouds, dropping mist, and triathletes hell bent on mashing their legs to smithereens.

Michael and Jack, pre-race.

Michael and I, early in the morning, had been discussing an apocalyptic world in which we would not want to survive.  I suggested that everyone over forty would be gone soon, but he reminded me that the survival skills that we attribute to our own teenagers are pretty spare.  If Michael survives the end days, I wouldn't be too surprised.  He is a loyal friend, intelligent, gifted in so many ways, and a calm and steady zenmaster.


By the time I got off my bike I was feeling fine.  It wasn't until I got to the transition area that I realized that I couldn't do anything with my fingers and I couldn't feel my toes.  I was freezing.  Should I stop?  I seriously considered this, after about three minutes fiddling with my shoes, helmet, etc., but I also realized that I had nowhere to go.  Somebody else had driven us and there was no indoor space available.   I would freeze, left alone with no run.  So after what is considered a "pitifully long transition"  I hobbled over to some folks standing around talking.  I begged, "I know that this can disqualify me, but will you help me with my shoes/jacket?"  As they obliged, insisting that "It's the hard days that we remember," I noticed that they were USA Triathlon Referees. Sort of funny.  Actually, mostly an indicator that I was far enough behind the contenders that I would be able to accept any sort of simple help.  Thus fortified with shoes, and jacket, I gave to padding along the road, wondering If the stubs that were my feet would ever turn into something worth running on.  It took the better part of three miles, but I finally gained sensitivity in both my hands and feet, enabling me to actually quicken to a jog/run gait, rather than whatever soft step I had been doing for the first half of the run.  I saw friend Matt first, coming in.  He was having a good day, as he is poised for a great season.  Matt is focused, calm, enthused.

Matt and I, pre-race.  Haggard triathletes? perhaps. Most definitely lifers.

And then the parade of friends.  Even Mike W,, our wonderful friend who is taking his family to live in my beloved East Bay showed up to cheer us on.  We become such an unsavory lot here in Chicago and beyond.  I'm thinking, as Mike yells out to me, "Yeah, you're gonna miss this, man!" Maybe.  He'll certainly miss the friends and the constant joking.  We planned to meet him post-race at the Three Floyds Brewery, but when Mike, Jack and I saw the line out the door and the tattooed dude carding people like he was working the rope at Studio 54, we said we'd ditch the affair. When I arrived home, Peter said, "yeah, that's the best brewery around!"  Maybe next year.

Instead, the three of us opted for a burger joint (chain) and we ate a little grub before heading home.  Michael and Jack were discussing the logistical failings of the race, and that Leon himself was most likely out there the night before repairing weed-strewn and potholed roadways.  Michael, a true-blue Chicagoan, turned to me and said, "I think it's great.  This is our back yard.  You saw what this place is like.  It's hard times.  Refineries and little houses that were built for factory workers.  There's nothing going on here.  But Leon gets the whole town out, cheering people on and working aid stations.  These triathletes from Northside Chicago and the suburbs, this is their home, too, but they never see it.  And here they are!"  Yes, me too. Here I was.  Another sad little town on the outskirts of the American Dream.  For one day populated by five thousand dollar bikes and SUV's and Audis.  As Michael said, "At least he's trying."

Triathlete Magazine: Leon

If there were a theme of this year, it might certainly be to put training and triathlon in the back seat.  Certainly a by-product of getting older, there seems to be less and less available time, less and less energy, and, after so many years, lack of the burning desire to train at high intensities with the sort of focus that eludes me most days.  I'm just happy to get out there, feel good, get it done, especially if I can keep my sense of humor, and squeeze into my try-outfit and wetsuit.  So did I quit? Of course not.  I muddled through, and had what I truly believe was a great race.  This isn't easy, man!!!  When Michael joined me to run the last mile in I didn't even realize it was him.  I had seen him pacing Kim earlier and assumed he was finished. Little did I know, that our hero, the Kona Qualifier and Mench and king of cycling, had looped around and run with all of us for some time.  He was in his glory.  Proud of his sport, proud to be competing in a race that he completed in 1994 (wearing just a speedo), and happy to see his friends embracing a thrilling race.  We are our own best friends.  And we're so gifted when we are surrounded by love, courage, passion, and wit.  On this crappy grey, noxious polluted day, it was all I could hope for, and I got so much more.

The international headquarters of the unencumbered woman.

The less you take with you, the less you need.
Sometimes this feels more true and good than other times. Mild weather and Spring in Chicago certainly inspire. Even the weight of a blog post gets to be too much. So I'll follow my own advice: keep it simple, cheap, and light.

Why so weepy? It's only Springfield!

Folks in the family weren't too sure about going to Springfield for the weekend.  I don't know why not. After all, it is the capital of our fine state, plus the home for many years of Abraham Lincoln, location of the Frank Lloyd Wright designed Dana Thomas house and site of our lovely lipstick-tube-style Hilton hotel! A weekend well-spent. Family time aplenty, and some interesting sites to visit.  We'll be back! I might as well admit, right now, that for whatever reason, I was teary practically all weekend.  Let's chalk it up to my fascination with Civil War era history, Lincoln, the first spring break without my dad, and maybe just the angst of dying nineteenth and early twentieth century towns in the american middle-west.  Town is depressed/depressing. 

National Park, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln.  

First stop, Lincoln's home.  It's the only National Park in Illinois, a little neighborhood, preserved only blocks away from the state capital building and our round hotel.  We walked around the sun-splashed parkway on our first afternoon in town, but it wasn't until later that we toured the interior of the Lincoln home.  I wasn't completely sure that we'd want to take this tour, given multiple tourist destinations, but as it turns out, within the interior of the Lincoln home photography was permitted. A splendid opportunity to memorialize the amazing wallpaper!  Our guide explained that Mrs. Lincoln ordered the wallpaper from Paris, and her black horse-hair furniture was near and dear to her heart.

A word on our guide.  A young energetic father of three from Arkansas, who I got to chatting with at the end of our tour (I love a good docent).  A national guardsman today, serving out 18 more months in Illinois.  The only job he could find after eight years of active duty.  I'll admit here and now, I thought his twang was a joke.  It was so strong when he opened his mouth I thought for sure it was an affect he was putting on to entertain the tourists.  Now, I realize not.  And where did he grow up? On a farm, of course.  And we all know how easy it is to go back to farming...so five hundred miles north it is.

wallpaper! Mrs. Lincoln ordered from Paris.

I was enraptured. Bed. Wallpaper. Size of space. 

Our hotel in the background.  Not a sight for Lincoln.

Leaving the Lincoln home through the back door, we all took a look at the privy, which was fascinating to some.  I was sorta weepy, for so many reasons (I love old stuff), but I was also weepy, thinking about at least three things.  One: looking at this monstrous hotel literally blocks from the home where Lincoln lived in the mid 1800's--it's just shocking, in a way.  Two, Lincoln milked his own cows when he lived here.  Just thinking about the profundity of such an act.  Our life today is so removed from this essential connection to the natural world.  We are so incredibly removed, especially lawyers of any station in life, which Lincoln was.  Third, my Dad loved these old-time tours. And I can remember being the age of my children, being dragged on tours and always sort of yawning my way through the thing, thinking ahead to ice cream or the motel pool or whatever.  I kept on thinking, with all the Lincoln stuff, "Dad would love this."  Not because he was a Lincoln guy, but because he liked any sort of tour.

He would have been intrigued by our wanderings around the grand Illinois state capital.  By no measure, he most definitely would have complimented some of the ornate detail, paint, crystal, wood.  He would have also made some glib comparison to Oregon's own state capital, which, in all likelihood, is more simple or cost-controlled, in whatever fashion.  He might have shared my fascination with the statue of Ulysess Grant or maybe even Stephen Douglas.  He would have loved to share the afternoon withe Peter and the girls and I, and he would have hiked all over the place.

The last tour that I remember sharing with my dad was actually the one that I led, right here at the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio, in Oak Park.  It must have been about eight years ago and it was the last time that Mom and Dad flew anywhere, and naturally the last time they visited me.  I think that I led a pretty good tour, I loved sharing one of Oak Park's incredible gems with other people.  I loved spending time in that magnificent home and workplace that Wright built for his own family. Which brings us to the site that I was most impressed by.

Sidewalk quotes from notable Illinoisans

The Dana-Thomas house is owned by the state of Illinois and is open for tours.  This lovely prairie home built by Wright for Susan Lawrence Dana is everything that I had hoped for and more.  No interior photographs allowed, and what a relief.  As beautiful as many photographs are of Wright buildings, the prairie homes, in my opinion, are simply not done justice in print.  The very nature of homes built to create flow between spaces and encourage people to experience space in a particular way is lost in a captured image.  Peter says that I was beaming for the entire tour.  Our interpreter was fantastic and passionate and informative.  The Dana Thomas house was built for entertaining, and it's scope and scale reflect this.  Never feeling like a massive house, it is in fact massive, with it's spaces dedicated to dining, and entertaining.

After the tour.  They look a little sad, can't say why.

Get a shot of me, really close!!!!

And what would a visit to Springfield be without a stop at an old Route 66 service station!  Again, I was completely overcome with weepiness.  The place is so cool, Shea's is a collectible museum.  Right up my alley.  Closed on Easter Sunday, naturally, but we peeked through the fence at all the memorabilia and put it right on top of our list for next time.  So there we have it, Americana packed in a weekend.

But wait! What about the Lincoln Museum?  I dunno.  Already a professed lover of all things old, and a crotchety insistence on believing that those things that are most interesting are the things that are most difficult to read through, well, the multimedia blitz that is the Lincoln Museum didn't suite my own style.  Nonetheless, the floodgates opened and I was crying through the schmaltzy videos and looking at One of Lincoln's own top hats and more, so in that light, I suppose the LM had it's intended effect.  I assumed we were all supposed to be overcome with emotion.  But then I looked around, and nobody was teary, or even particularly intense looking.  I heard one mother try to explain slavery to her kid (that was sorta amusing) and I heard one dad ask his kid "so, what was the Civil War *really* about", which perked my ear up.  Dad would have probably liked the Lincoln Museum, but now that he's gone I get to say what I think.  He, like me, probably would have been more impressed with the actual Lincoln Home, run by the austere National Park Service.  And, not to mention (although Dad wouldn't care about this) the NPS, and not the LMuseum had on hand my favorite Lincoln book by Eric Foner, Fiery Trial, which says it all, in my opinion.  An equitable, well-researched, authoritative view on Lincoln's life work relating to race and slavery in particular.

On the inside, a fabulous drag queen with muscles and flair and sexuality, on the outside, suburban mom/feminista with the coolest kids ever.

The unencumbered woman had a big night,  a visit to the live opening of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.  

With camera in hand and a witty thirteen year old in tow, I figured we'd have no problem creating some glamorous shots.  Unfortunately, everything we took looks like suburban mom's night out mixed with a tour of one of Louis Sullivan's crown jewels.  How I love the Auditorium Theater.  It is beautiful and perfectly composed, in every way that Sullivan imagined.  My breath is taken away, each and every time I visit this amazing Chicago institution.  How lucky we are. 

mama likes Sullivan's repeating geometric patterns. 

You can find this right here in Ol' Oak Park (FLW Home & Studio)

But let's face it, kids, were not getting any younger, and well, we don't really look so glamorous.  Earthy Mama, I suppose, with a little flair, is about all I can muster.  Oh well, here's the rub. This is one of those evenings in which the inner matters so much more than the exterior--sort of funny while experiencing a musical that tells a story of kindness masked by obsession over looks, sexualized imagery and, well, really fabulous, hot looking people moving and grooving in fantabulous costumery and sexy sexy sexy wear.

We sat and enjoyed the crowd for a long time before show's beginning.  There is no way to give any sort of justice, whatsoever to Sullivan's design.  The lights, stencils, repeating geometric patterns and warm colors fill me with utter love and awe each and every time I've visited this theater.

When the show started, phones and cameras were off and we were transported to another time, a sweet time in our minds full of dance, song, great empowering images of the selves that we are on the inside manifested in our exterior charms.  A great visual feast with fabulous dancing and music and color and laughter and uniqueness (if that's even a word), this gives us permission to live big.  Play big. Love big.  It's all too short friends.  One day, dancing at the End Up at 6 in the morning,

 another day, encumbered with mortgage and work and kids and worries.  live and love when you can, friends!  I love this film, I love this Musical. I was that goofy woman in front of you who was grooving and singing along to all my favorite tunes.

Midway through it all, I leaned in close to daughter and said, "with some of the more raunchy content, I'm more embarrassed in front of all these rich old white people than I am embarrassed in front of my daughter."  I think she got it.

Goodbye, winter....we saw so little of you!

click. wake up!

 Last time I checked in, I was in the throes of some serious lack of motivation.  It happens.  Life can simply be exhausting, and I'm so lucky for the beauty and love and abundance in my life.  Here I am, captured by my stealth photographer on some sunny Sunday afternoon.  And this collection of shots, a sort of goodbye perfect winter quiet day walk in the neighborhood.  The sheer beauty of architecture of homes in my surround is breathtaking, particularly with a fresh coat of snow and lung-cleansing blue sky.

these box hedges were once the dominant landscape in this suburb. rarer and rarer today.

this willow grove was planted at the park only a few years ago.  

Gorgeous, well-loved. All year long.  I worship this gardener.

from a beloved yard.

One Day. Prairie meets midcentury. Can't get any better.

And in Chicago.  Touches, everywhere. Wrought iron. Heavy Door. 

This house holds so much mystery.  Unfortunately it backs up to some large traditional homes, removing it's necessary open landscaping.  Nonetheless,  a favorite.

This makes me happy!

Back closer to my own home. I adore the repetitive charm of wood and brick bungalows, altered over the years making every site it's own curious artistic expression.  My neighbors who boldly pot plastic flowers, I'm so in love with this idea. Yes! Year-round flowers! Low maintenance!

Ashby says she likes to look for a house with a porch big enough for a party. Here we are, and it's sublime!

Just around the corner, this sweet mid-century saltbox style bungalow.  Check out the modern door, and the glass door with snow-flake patterns.  ADORE. 

The Unencumbered Woman lives.

And what of this unencumbered business? Am I still working that angle?  Well, heck, yeah!!!! It's all about attitude. Approach and attitude.  Troubles, stress, fear, anger? Let it go.  Take that walk, ask for a hug, go to sleep, enjoy great food.  Don't spend what you don't have.  Live a little, but not too much.