Guest Blog by Susanne Helmert: My Lake, My Love

As we head into the weekend, I am happy to offer some serenity by the way of Susanne Helmert's Lake Michigan photos. As threatened in my post about her work that I discovered at the 57th Street Art Fair, I asked her whether she'd be willing to do a guest blog, and she graciously agreed, so here is Susanne in her own words (Thank you, Susanne!):

One of the things I love the most about living in Chicago is having Lake Michigan so close by. I moved to Chicago two years ago and it was pretty much love at first sight! Such a powerful lake, which sometimes can be as angry as an ocean and sometimes as calm as a little pond. I never get tired capturing its different moods, faces and colors.

But - since I’m not very good with words - I better let my photographs speak for me… I hope you enjoy!

If you want to see more, see the whole set on flickr.
Please like my page of Facebook.
Or visit my shop on Etsy.

Thanks! Susigrafie

Biked the Drive

Cruising onto Lake Shore Drive at 57th Street at 5:45 a.m.

My kids and I biked Lake Shore Drive back in May, and it's taken me this long to report on our experience because I was hoping to share official photos. After all, we had the registration numbers properly affixed to our chests and helmets. Alas, our "bib numbers" did not show up in the photo lineup, and even though I was stubborn enough to comb through their nearly 9,000 "unclaimed" photos, I found none of us.

But an experience can still be memorable without photos that put you into the action, right? And I do have these shots I took with my cell phone, with one hand, while riding, and I think they actually give you a nice feel for what it's like to ride your bike on one of America's scenic highways with no cars for competition.

We were astounded by how easy it was to bike the Drive. What a smooth ride! Getting all the way downtown is way more comfortable on the Drive than on the bike path that runs along the very same lakefront. Maybe because, all of a sudden, you've got all that space. The road surface is a lot smoother, too.

A group of fellow riders going south along Grant Harbor. This was already the return trip for us as we only did the southern leg of the route.

This was taken at pretty much the same spot as the previous photo, just looking straight ahead, with the Field Museum in the background. As you can see, it's still early in the morning (about 7:15 a.m.) as shadows are long and coming from the East.

All in all, biking the Drive was fun, and I have my daughter to thank for pushing me to sign us up. Physically it was less demanding than I thought. As we did it early and were able to start at the southern end of the Drive, right where we live, the crowds were not that bad, especially on the way in. But even downtown, when we picked up our event t-shirts, the crowd was friendly and rather civilized. So my "crowd" excuses did not hold. I have a feeling a new family tradition was born...

Guest Blog by Sandy Suminski: Making Writing a Priority



Sandy's back porch, all set up for writing.

As part of my current series on Moms Who Write, I am happy to welcome my long-time student Sandy Suminski as my guest blogger today. Sandy is not only a successful advertising professional, she also manages to fit creative writing into her life as a freelance copywriter and mom of a four-year-old. Her essay "City of Light" was published in the Bellevue Literary Review and subsequently included in the anthology The Best of the Bellevue Literary Review.

Thanks, Sandy, for sharing your way of making writing a priority:


What prompted you to pursue writing even though you are the mother of a little boy? Did you always write or did you become a writer while already being a mom?

I started writing eight years before I became a mom. Technically, I’ve written my whole career--I’m an advertising copywriter. But I only started working on my own writing when I was in my mid-thirties. I felt frustrated and emptied by my job and longed for more meaningful work. I did a lot of soul searching, and one answer kept coming up: just write. Just write? What does that mean? I knew it didn’t mean advertising, so I signed up for a creative writing class at the Newberry Library. Within a few weeks I was writing about my experiences with bipolar illness. The words flowed, and I felt I was doing the right thing. So I’ve kept doing it. Since I’ve had my little boy, finding time to write has certainly become more challenging, but I think it’s more important than ever. I believe children need happy parents and examples of leading a passionate life. Achieving that balance can be tricky, but I think it’s worth it.

Do you actually use the time your son is in preschool to write? Or do chores get in the way?

My little boy just turned four and is starting preschool in the fall. I’m planning on using the time to write. He goes to a few drop-off classes now, and when we leave, I bring my laptop, zip into the closest coffee shop and write until it’s time to pick him up. Occasionally, if I feel I need it, I'll just zone out or browse in a shop, because I think downtime is important, too. I’ve worked hard to streamline my routines, minimize chores and prioritize writing.  I also get help when I need it and can afford it. Still, I’m kind of a slob and my house isn’t perfect. I’m okay with that.

Do you have a particular writing routine?

It’s developed over the last few years. When my son was an infant, I’d keep a small notebook and pen near my nursing chair and would write once he’d fallen asleep on the nursing pillow. My husband has always been very supportive (he's the one who suggested the class at Newberry when were still dating) and I’ll often take off for a few hours in the evening or over the weekend to go write in a coffee shop. It’s only been within the last year that I’ve made finding a more formalized routine a priority, and I feel like my writing has really taken off as a result. With the help of some life coaching last fall, I established a regular routine that involves getting up at 5 a.m. every weekday and writing for an hour. Then I go back to sleep until my little boy wakes up. I’m not a morning person and it’s something I would never have believed I could do. My amazement that I am even capable of this gives me the extra charge to keep going.

I also have two regular larger chunks of time that I rely on: My husband takes our son out for a few hours over the weekend, and he has arranged his work schedule so that every other Monday he is the primary parent. I use those larger chunks of time not just to write, but to strategize as to how I’ll use the 5 a.m. hours. I also use that Monday to catch up on writing business, and to tend to my freelance advertising business.


Creativity inspires creativity: Drawings by Sandy's
son grace the wall by her desk; this one
shows both of them in their Halloween costumes:
she's a cat and he's a witch.

Do you have a particular place where you write?

I’ll write anywhere. When I used to travel on my own,  I loved writing on planes and trains, in hotels, parks, out at cafés. Now my usual places are in bed or in a coffee shop. I keep my laptop by my bed and when the alarm goes off at five, I roll over, pull it out and get to work. At six, I close it, put it back in its spot, roll over and go back to sleep. That's when I have my most interesting dreams! I do have a desk, and though I don’t often write there, I find it important to have that home base. It’s a visual reminder of my commitment to things outside of mothering. It’s in the dining room right next to the kitchen, so I see it often in my daily flow. That way I can stop there whenever I have a thought, jot it down and put it into a folder to use during my next writing session. I’ve decorated the area with an ever-changing gallery of my son’s drawings. He’s at a prolific age, and his creativity fuels mine.

Luminous Photography by Bryan David Griffith

Agave, Red Rock Moutain Wilderness, Arizona
© Bryan David Griffith

It's odd how some images stick in your mind. For me, this is one of them. Of all the stunning natoinal parklands photography Bryan David Griffith exhibited at the 57th Street Art Fair, I remember this one most. What is it? What makes me remember that image more than all others? If I understood that, I would understand more about photography, and more about what makes a great photograph, or at least one that works for me. All I know right now is that this agave seems suffused with a cool and yet vibrant light, plus that point of view of all the leaves reaching up has a certain energy. More might be discovered as I spend more time staring at it. Or perhaps you all have some insights. In any case, I wanted to share this find, and hope Bryan will forgive my crude method of including his copyright.

Reflections in the Rio Grande, Big Bend National Park
© Bryan David Griffith

As I paged through Bryan's "Listen to the Wild" portfolio on his website, I found more images with arresting light features, like this one. Thankfully, we've corresponded a bit and I hope to be able to interview him soon on the role of light in his work. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy.

Reading: In Love with an Old Book - E.B. White's One Man's Meat

Once in a while we read a classic in my Advanced Memoir Workshop, and this June the group chose E.B. White's One Man's Meat. The book proved hard to get from the library (misplaced, borrowed, or in transit), and when I looked earlier this year, amazon only had a large-print edition which I know I cannot read, so I decided to buy it used. After all, it's an old book, so it would be fitting to have slightly yellowed pages.

I am delighted with this old book! First of all, the physical book is just so apt. I ended up with a former library book and what seems like an original edition from 1944. It's got the library stamps here and there, even the old card catalog slip sleeve in the back cover. The cover is bound in black cloth, and the spine was embossed in gold but is now hardly legible. For some reason I feel cool reading this book, especially when I take it along to read while waiting for a doctor's appointment. It is simply different.

Even more though, I am delighted with its content. That E.B. White, the author of Charlotte's Web, one of the most celebrated American children's books, would be a great writer is, of course, no surprise. One Man's Meat is a collection of his monthly pieces published in Harper's Magazine from 1938 - 1943. That his observations on life as a coastal farmer in Maine, having moved there from New York City, would include some comedy, is no surprise either. He ends up, for instance, with dozens of eggs to dispose of every week, simply because he bought too many chicks on the advice that most of them wouldn't make it to adulthood, and then they all grow into super productive hens.

It is surprising, however, how strangely up-to-date and relevant to our times his thoughts can be. Right in the very first essay "Removal," written in July 1938, he talks about how "television is going to be the test of the modern world." He goes on:

"Clearly the race today is between loud speaking and soft, between the things that are and the things that seem to be, between the chemist of RCA and the angel of God. Radio has already given sound a wide currency, and sound 'effects' are taking the place once enjoyed by sound itself. Television will enormously enlarge the eye's range, and, like radio, will advertise the Elsewhere. Together with the tabs, the mags, and the movies, it will insist that we forget the primary and the near in favor of the secondary and the remote."

Tell me, does this not read like an assessment of the age of the Internet and the iPhone?

My Summer Non-List

My calendar and the weather man tell me that today is the first official day of summer. It sure feels like it here in Chicago, where temperatures are expected to reach 92 F (33 C) again today, and the local weather channel reports that this is the warmest June in 25 years. We have had only one decent rainfall in six weeks. All over the city, the grass is already the color of straw unless it's been watered.

The first day of summer has me thinking about my summer list. Faithful readers of this blog know that I like to put together a list for each season to make sure I actually savor it, and that it all began with that consistent American question of "Are you having a nice summer?" See my old post on having a summer.

Usually I make a fun list of things to do, like going sledding in the winter (wasn't possible this winter due to no snow!) or apple picking in the fall. But I am finding that what I am really craving this summer are empty days. Empty like those lawn chairs in the picture above, which, incidentally, I took last week when the kids and I went to Deep River Waterpark. The public schools were still in session, and thus the park was rather empty, and my kids had their pick of water slides.

And that's what I want for my summer: emptiness. Days I can while away. Perhaps sit in my own lounge chair on my porch and page through a stack of magazines. Or fiddle with my pictures on my laptop all day. Not go anywhere, not have an appointment, or an event to attend.

This, you must understand, is a tall order. I've long realized that with three jobs and a family of five, life is, by definition, busy. As the kids get older and their lives expand, it gets even busier. This summer life has gotten more complicated as all three kids are attending different camps and different summer schools, none of which run congruently or are in the same place. Lots of schlepping and packing and unpacking is involved.

But still, I've scaled back one of my teaching jobs for the next few weeks, and I intend to keep my own schedule as empty as possible by saying no to offers to go to concerts or plays or the movies. I might even hide my copies of Time Out Chicago when they arrive so I don't feel pulled into all those different directions by all the busy-ness in the city. I might do some of those mundane summer things that are on my old summer list, which is still tacked to the fridge, such as going to the farmers' market (I started going every Thursday as there's one on my way to work) or laying down in the grass and looking up at the sky. But the beauty of those summer things is that they don't need to be planned, and they imply a sense of slowing down and savoring the moment.

Photo Essay: Tiger Hill, Suzhou, China

These days I am craving some serenity (Our kids' school year is over and the summer chaos of camps, summer school and entertainment has begun.), so I thought I'd put together a photo essay of the first garden I visited in Suzhou, a city of famed classic Chinese gardens, about 1.5 hours from Shanghai. King He Lu, who died in 496 B.C., is supposedly buried here, and according to legend a white tiger came to guard his resting place; thus it is named Tiger Hill. Here a view of the leaning Yunyan Pagoda on top of the hill, as seen through one on the park's entrances.

At the entrance of each of the classical gardens in Suzhou, stone tablets like this one tell the story of the garden: The initial owner's intentions and plans, subsequent developments, as well as visitors to the gardens, or poets' thoughts on them.

This picture is perhaps not so serene, but this is how my friend, our guide, and I found Tiger Hill: crowded. We were visiting on the weekend before the holiday of Qingming (the sweeping out of the tombs - a Chinese version of Day of the Dead). Therefore, a lot of tourists were visiting, not Westerners like me, but Chinese coming from all corners of the country.

My companions told me that the abundant flower displays aren't always there, and had been brought in as holiday decorations (They were all in pots.). Here also, a rare sight: a child. Coming from the U.S., where on a weekend a park is teeming with kids, I was keenly aware of the long-term effects of China's one child policy. While it isn't enforced anymore, it has permanently reshaped the Chinese family: For those who grew up in the 60s and 70s, being an only child was their world, and thus, our guide confirmed, they themselves are not having more children, if they have any.

Going up the stairs, a view of one of the gazebos.

Here, that same gazebo's roof spotted through the windows and doorway of one of the garden rooms at Tiger Hill. The only thing one could compare these rooms to would be a sun porch, except that they are not necessarily attached to another building. They feature windows all around, often with elaborate lattice work that frame the view beyond.

Here a close-up of that same roof with all the festival's flowers in the background.

Along the passageway by the garden room, a white washed wall features another window framing nature. Our guide explained that none of these lattice patterns repeat themselves. Each window in a classic Chinese garden is unique.

I loved these old walls, and here the interplay of ivy vines and tree branch shadows, although clearly that engraving is rather new.

Commerce must not be forgotten. A shop on top of Tiger Hill with a view of the Yunyan Pagoda through the archway.

You can see, can you not, why the Yunyan Pagoda is called the "Leaning Tower of China." According to my National Geographic guide book, it was built during the Five Dynasties Period (907-960) on ground that was rock and softer soil, and thus the tower began to tilt over time. It has been repaired many times, most recently in 1957 when concrete was poured into the foundation. It is 154 feet (47 m) tall, and the difference in angle between the top and the bottom is 7.6 ft (2.32 m).

 

 

Here you can really see the tilt, and some people having fun with it, and those flowers again.

Tiger Hill lies on the outskirts of town, and the city's less picturesque industrial sprawl can be seen through these budding magnolia tress on top of the hill.

 

 

View of the tower through the still naked trees on the other side of the hill.

The moat around Tiger Hill

 

 

A slice of life in contemporary China: Fishermen sit under that silver umbrella, hoping for a catch from that thousand-year-old canal. Their nets swing from the old wall with its lattice-work windows (notice that each one has a different pattern), and laundry is hung out to dry from a rather utilitarian building right behind the wall.

I shall wrap up these impressions with this more typical (because serene) shot of the canal around Tiger Hill. In the back one of the old stone bridges.

Literary Magazine Layout

The past few days I've become obsessed with creating a book in blurb, as I am handling the layout of the literary magazine my son's school is publishing. It's been exciting and fun to make it work, but as I've been planning out pages, it's also been interesting to be on the "other" side of publishing.

Even though I did not have to make any of the editorial decisions (the English teacher handled that), I do have to make space decisions. Since putting all the material in would make printing the magazine twice as expensive, I have to keep the page count to 40 or less. And that means cutting. One writer's shorter poem might make it instead of a longer one, simply because it is short. Or I might prefer one artwork over another because it works well on the page with someone else's poem.

The picture shows my planning the layout of the final pages on my couch last night. I simply had to physically move pieces of paper around to see what might jive with what, as I was nervous whether I could include everyone's work, especially some of the longer poems. Thankfully, it worked out that I don't have to dump a single contributor, which is especially important since I'm dealing with children's work. Being entrusted with the kids' work is a special joy and responsibility. But working on the layout also reminded me that despite all the excitement over showcasing stunning poetry and art work, space and ultimately the money that space costs, do matter.

Haunting Photography by Susanne Helmert

Home of Forgotten Souls by Susanne Helmert

As promised in my post about last weekend's 57th Street Art Fair, I'm sharing some photography today, namely the work of photographer Susanne Helmert, whom I discovered at the fair. She didn't show these two particular pictures at the fair, but they captivated me as soon as I checked out her website. I've been corresponding with her since (she happens to live in Chicago, and is originally from Germany like I am), and we have plans for her to do a guest blog for me on her Lake Michigan shots.

In the meantime, she graciously sent me these two photographs to share because they impressed me the most. They were taken in the abandoned lung sanatorium Beelitz Heilstätten outside of Berlin. It was built as a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients in 1898, and later functioned as a military hospital during both World Wars and in the former East Germany.

Lost in Translation by Susanne Helmert

"Lost in Translation" is probably my favorite of all the photos Susanne Helmert shows in her online portfolio. I haven't quite figured out what it is about these two pictures, and this one in particular, that grabs me in a way that could be described as haunting. Perhaps they speak to me because I write memoir and have concerned myself a lot with those who are no longer with us, my grandparents in particular. It seems to me that I can still feel the presence of the souls of the people who sat in these chairs, or wandered that hallway. It might also be the locale in Central Europe (my grandparents were from Northern Bohemia in Czechoslovakia). Or maybe it has something to do with the grand architecture of the turn of the century, of which quite a few great buildings stand abandoned, especially in the former Soviet block. If you want to find out more, Susanne wrote about these photos and her trip to this place at Shooting with Abandon.

Reading: Tracy Crow's Eyes Right, Confessions from a Woman Marine

I am happy to announce that my very first book review beyond the pages of this blog is up at the Washington Independent Review of Books. It's actually not a book review per se, but a Q&A with Tracy Crow, author of the memoir Eyes Right, Confessions of a Woman Marine.

In the late 70s, fresh out of high school, Tracy Crow joined the Marine Corps, not quite sure what she was signing up for but damn sure that she needed straightening out. While as a woman she could not serve in a combat unit, she nevertheless fought her entire ten years as a Marine, primarily to prove herself. The battle became mainly one against herself, as she realizes in the end, when her military career goes up in smoke at the threat of a court martial.

For all the memoirs I've read, I never expected a memoir could read like a thriller. Eyes Right does. It kept me engrossed during my recent long flight from Chicago to Shanghai. Crow's memoir let me look into a world that is utterly different from mine, let me experience a life that is absolutely foreign to me, complete with requisite lingo that I didn't know (never knew "head" meant "restroom").

That's the power of memoir: It allows me to get to know a world I would never know otherwise, gives me a report from the front lines of what that life was like, and tries to figure out why the narrator made certain decisions. Eyes Right definitely accomplishes all that, in addition to being rather entertaining.

At the 57th Street Art Fair

Howard Scott's funny maps intrigue visitors at the 57th Street Art Fair

Browsing the 57th Street Art Fair, right in our very own neighborhood of Hyde Park in Chicago, is another one of our family traditions. It's one of the oldest art fairs in the country (it began in 1948), and is always held the first full weekend in June. Since it's a juried art fair, the quality of artwork is consistent, and we love discovering new artists or visiting with favorites we have seen before. Following I'm sharing some of the art work that intrigued us, as well as some street scenes to give you a feel for what it was like to be wandering about all this art.

Wait a minute! Cacti don't grow here? - These metal sculptures by Desert Steel Co. are so realistic, I had to look twice.

I absolutely loved this Golden Barrel Cactus by Desert Steel Co., especially the fact that it could "grow" in our northern climate.

Strolling down Kimbark Ave.

One of the intricate baskets by Martha Monson Lowe from Iowa. She also exhibits at the Northeast Iowa Artists' Studio Tour, an event that I would very much like to visit some day.

This oil painting by Rodgers Naylor caught my eye from across the street. Sadly, it had already sold, but then again, I would not have been able to afford it anyway. We did have a pleasant conversation with the artist, though, about how Hyde Park has changed from when he lived here in the 70s, and how this painting was done in northern Spain but really could have been in any of the Mediterreanan countries.

My daughter recently wrote a fairy tale involving ravens sitting on poles, so we were stunned to find them so aptly depicted in Glynnis Lessing's ceramics.

My daughter is a glass fetishist and last year she fell in love with the glass pumpkins by Jack Pine Studio. We were happy to find him exhibiting again. She doesn't go for these serene white ones though; she prefers purple and blues.

My daughter's "collection" of Jack Pine's pumpkins has grown now by the bluish pumpkin on the left.

We both fell in love with the whimsical animal sculptures by Malen Pierson. Turns out he is from northern Utah, where he has enough space to create his sculptures out of scrap metal, but he spends a good deal of his summer hauling them to art fairs around the country.

Now we're both dreaming of having a pony with a shovel for a hind quarter.

Wandering down 57th Street.

Loved these frames cut from the same trunk by Turning Green.

I saw Chinese embroidery work recently when my friend and I were visiting Suzhou on a day trip from Shanghai, and she advised me not to buy it because what we saw there was cheaply done. I was happy to find this very kind of embroidery in Yan Inlow's work at the Hyde Park Art Fair. Her work is so masterful, the stitches so whispy, and the silk thread so fine, that you have to step up close to the "painting" to see that it's in fact not painted, but embroidered. Clearly, she's also a consummate artist as she sketches these scenes first before embroidering them.

My daughter buys something from local glass artist Roberta Mezinskas every year and has slowly built a little collection:

Do you detect a theme?

There were also plenty of photographers exhibiting whose work I liked, but taking pictures of pictures is not a such good thing. I plan to browse their websites and hope to share some of their work here soon.