Consider me
As one who loved poetry
And persimmons.
– Masaoka Shiki, Japanese poet
It’s time for another edition of book spine haiku. This volume features my friend Kathy Verschoor, my husband David, and yours truly.
Consider me
As one who loved poetry
And persimmons.
– Masaoka Shiki, Japanese poet
It’s time for another edition of book spine haiku. This volume features my friend Kathy Verschoor, my husband David, and yours truly.
The older I get, the more I see
The power of that young woman, my mother.
– Sharon Olds, American poet
David started a Mother’s Day tradition that pre-dated our getting together. This tradition has been going strong for 20 years now. He is a fantastic chef and he loves to cook – lucky me – and every Saturday evening of Mother’s Day weekend, he makes a gourmet dinner for his mom and me. His parents and his brother Michael come up for the weekend, and then Sunday morning, his parents treat our family for breakfast at Fat Apple’s in El Cerrito (7525 Fairmount Avenue, 510.528.3433). We have learned to get there before eight in the morning to avoid having to stand in line, which can be quite some time when there are seven of us waiting for a table.
This year, David grilled everything – swordfish on a bed of tomatoes and arugula, clams with prosciutto and tabasco, potatoes with a Chianti vinaigrette, and fresh asparagus with prosciutto (his parents brought these fresh, thick spears from Stockton) – and paired dinner with a smooth White Southern Rhone Blend. He ended the evening serving a mango smoothie. Overall, the meal was not heavy at all; in fact, it didn’t seem like it was a five-course meal and we didn’t roll away from the dining room.
After his parents and brother left Sunday morning, we headed to Annie’s Annuals (740 Market Avenue, Richmond, 94801, 510.215.1671), a fabulous nursery that throws a big Mother’s Day weekend party, complete with face painting, entertainment by Budderball the Clown, music, a mini petting zoo (new this year), plant talks under a tent, a raffle, and food and drinks. It gets crowded, but we enjoy going to get a few plants for my pots and admire the row upon row of plants and flowers that I wish would fit in our garden. The trek to Annie’s Annuals has become a recent tradition in the past few years. The evening ended with David preparing a Mother’s Day dinner for our family – lamb kabob, keeping this year’s theme of grilling going through the weekend.
Remembering my Mom
This is the second Mother’s Day that I am celebrating without my mother. In the past, while we spent Mother’s Day weekend with David’s parents, I sent my mother a card and plant (flowers would trigger her seasonal allergies, so I stopped having flowers delivered) and then called her that Sunday. Last year was difficult and painful. This year is no less difficult, but in a different way. Gone is the immediacy of her no longer being with us. Instead, I feel a bit lost, like what an orphan might feel.
I posted on Facebook a picture of my mother and me on my graduation day 1985 at UC Davis. It is one of my all-time favorite photos of the two of us because it was spontaneous – I was looking off to the side with my arm around her, and she had this half-smile and looking off into the distance. What was she thinking? Maybe that she was able to get her third daughter through college – a proud moment, indeed. One of my cousins posted a comment that she remembered, as a child, my mother as always looking beautiful and elegant, and that her style and beauty never faded. Growing up, I never thought of my mother as beautiful because I didn’t see her as anything but a mother who was very strict, who worked herself to exhaustion in the vineyards and in the packing house so she could give us the material things that made up the American Dream. Looking back now, yes, she was beautiful. My grandmother had Chinese in her heritage and my grandfather Spanish in his. My mother had that mestizo look.
She also had a quiet style. She wore her hair fashionably short, which suited her. Though plump as a teenager and young adult, she was always thin since her marriage to my father. I loved her dresses from the 1960s – fitted bodices and flared skirts. Even in her later years, I could find at least one outfit in her closet that I could wear and look neither matronly nor out of fashion.
She never wore high heels in my lifetime, but a few years ago when I became obsessed with high heels and platforms and showed my mother a pair of high-heeled pumps that I had purchased at a local shoe store, she got excited. She told me that she wore high heels when she was much younger. I could see her living vicariously, as she turned my newly purchased shoe over in her hands. She liked what I had picked out. Maganda, beautiful. I looked at her, amazed, never imagining my mother rocking a pair of high-heeled shoes. In the vineyards, she wore old clothes sealed at the openings with duct tape to keep the dust out. She came home after 10-plus-hour days sweaty, her work clothes coated in dust. In the packing house, she wore an apron stained with purple dye from the Sunkist brand stampings on the shiny, hard oranges. I was glad she had told me that about her. It was something we had in common, a story I keep in my heart.
Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.
– Babe Ruth, Major League Baseball player
When my son Jacob began playing tee ball in first grade, I never attended a single game that season. Don’t get me wrong. I was a long-time baseball fan since before high school – this dates me, but my favorite player was Carlton Fisk of the Boston Red Sox in the 1970s – and I have been a San Francisco Giants fan since moving to the Bay Area in 1990. But I wasn’t ready to join the ranks of parents who spent their weekends at their children’s sporting events. I didn’t want to give up my weekends. Fast forward two years. In third grade, he showed skills and a love for the game, which reawakened my love for the game. Fast forward four more years, after David has been coaching Jacob’s teams and managed one of the league division’s summer all-star teams for two years. David now manages Jacob’s travel team, the Hornets, who play in tournaments every other weekend.
Baseball is life
They say baseball is life, and if you love the game you understand why. Team sports teach kids how to work together towards a goal, instead of as individuals. Every player on the field has a role in every play; the moment the pitcher is in the wind-up, the other eight players are moving (or should be moving) in anticipation of the ball coming to them. I’ve heard David tell all the kids on the field, “The ball’s coming to you!” (Years earlier, David once told Jacob that when he was playing the outfield as a kid, he always wanted the ball to be hit to him. That was fire in the belly.) If the ball isn’t hit to them, they should be moving, either to where the ball is or to the next play, covering the bases or the immediate areas to back up their teammates. You should always have your teammate’s back.
Moms in the stands
Like most moms, I wanted my son to do his best and to suck it up when he made an error, but, of course, he wasn’t supposed to make any errors. During summer ball after third grade, Jacob had meltdowns when he made an error. He took himself out of the game by stomping around in the outfield or defiantly putting his arms to the side in right field, basically giving up while his team was in play. I was aghast – horrified – and angry. David had long talks with him about not letting his team down. It was one thing to beat yourself up and quit, but you can’t shortchange your team. (We used to call him the master of self-flagellation, a trait no doubt he had gotten from me but had taken to new heights.)
He still gets upset when he’s pitching and not getting the support defensively or when he’s still thinking about his called-strike-three at bat to end the inning before. I can see it in his body language – the slumped shoulders, the hard blinking to keep the tears at bay – but he isn’t melting down to the point of being useless to his teammates. That comes from slow-growth maturity. And as painful as it was and still is for me, his mom, to watch from the stands, I realize that he is learning on a stage – the baseball field, in front of coaches, teammates, and families – which is something that I, as a painfully shy child, could not imagine.
Embracing risk
When he moved up from the Pinto level (grassy infield and squishy ball) to the Mustang level (dirt infield and hard ball), he worked himself out of the position of shortstop, which he had played with such fierceness and command the year before. He confessed to his fear of the ball, which greatly disappointed me. I kept telling him he just needed to overcome his fear. Although he has embraced centerfield, overcoming fear is still an important life lesson.
I never realized that I was risk-averse, too, when it came to youth baseball. If Jacob pitched two great innings in a game, I wanted him to come out after that inning, not only to preserve an unblemished pitching effort but also to have him leave the mound with more confidence. If the team was winning or in a tight game in the latter innings, some of us moms in the stands would hold our breath, wondering if our son was going to pitch, and then breathe a sigh of relief when our son didn’t trot to the mound and pick up the ball.
Last year, in one of the tournament games he pitched a great two innings and in the process threw very few pitches. His team was ahead and it was the other team’s last chance to overcome the Hornets. Jacob overthrew the ball, trying to strike out the side in the bottom of the sixth. He walked batters and gave up hits. Soon the lead shifted and the other team won. Jacob was devastated. I was devastated, too. But the other emotion that coursed through me was anger. How could David let him pitch that third inning, when two is the modus operandi? Why push his limit? Why, to be more pointed, ruin the great two innings he had just pitched? David’s response: He pitched well those two innings and threw 19 pitches total, so they put him out there again, expecting the same stellar results. He has to learn how to handle the pressure, David concluded. I didn’t agree with the reasoning. The season ended with me still believing a new pitcher should have been inserted.
A New season
In a recent tournament in Sunnyale, one of our Hornets moms, Yoko, told me she accepts that we can’t control many things in life and has developed a Zen mentality for everything, including youth baseball. She sings the Kelly Clarkson song, “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger,” to her son and daughter. In that same tournament, in their first game, Jacob had pitched well in his first inning, and although he pitched well his second inning, the opposing team tied the game. I didn’t expect to see him come out for the “sudden death” extra inning, but he was sent back to the mound for a third inning because he had a low pitch count and he had pitched well overall.
In sudden death, the opposing team gets to determine where in their line-up they want to start their inning, with runners already at first and second. Jacob overthrew a pitch or two before collecting himself to record the first two outs. Then he gave up the game-winning single. Jacob walked off the mound, devastated and crying. I was disappointed for him. But this time around, I was surprisingly calm. I finally understand – in a way that he doesn’t yet – that adversity and defeat build character, even as it hurts mightily now, even as it hurts us parents to see our children this way. I bit my lip and watched David talk to him, as Jacob’s shoulders heaved up and down. David later told me he was telling Jacob that he noticed him overthrowing, then taking a deep breath and composing himself for the next pitch. He told Jacob that his response on the mound was a huge step – regardless of the outcome – because last year he couldn’t regain his composure. That was David’s takeaway. My takeaway was that it’s not about preserving the perfect, it’s about becoming a stronger player and a stronger person. And a wiser mom.
Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.
– John Lennon, English singer-songwriter, The Beatles
After nearly a week of sensory overload in Las Vegas, bookended by my son’s two baseball tournaments the previous weekend and this past weekend, I’m ready to go fishing again. No, wait. That’s too much work for me right now. I’m ready to follow the late John Lennon’s advice, especially on a Monday morning.
Rest and then gather up energy for the week while floating downstream. Dress comfortably. And don’t forget your sunglasses.
Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness.
– Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American writer, poet, and artist
April is National Poetry Month and to close the month out, I’m presenting another edition of book spine haiku for my last post in April. This volume features creations by Laurel Kallenbach, a good friend, classmate at Syracuse University’s Creative Writing Program many moons ago and blogger of Laurel’s Compass, which I praised in a previous blog; Anne-Marie Pine, friend and teacher at my daughter’s school (and my son’s third-grade teacher four years ago); John Farrell, emerging screenwriter and classmate in fiction at Syracuse University’s Creative Writing Program; and two more from me.
Nothing ever succeeds which exuberant spirits have not helped to produce.
– Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher, poet, and composer
When Heidi Werner and her two business partners opened up Lava 9 (542 Hayes Avenue, 415.552.6468) in San Francisco in 1991, the impoverished Hayes Valley neighborhood was years away from being gentrified. The economy was down; yet, Werner pointed out, “It [the recession] always opens up opportunities, too.” Driven by youthful exuberance and cheerful indifference of economic conditions, Werner said of that time, “You just go for it!”
Werner knew the owners of Nomads on the block and was drawn to the diverse and eclectic vibe of the neighborhood. The rent was low and the storefronts were small, blank slates, which enticed not only Lava 9 to lay down stakes but other young entrepreneurs, as well. “We created that neighborhood,” Werner said. Nomads, Zonal, and Lava 9 are the original three shops from the early days that are still standing.
One of her partners, a jewelry designer, already owned a store called Volcano, which figured into the name of their new store. The three of them randomly added the “9” because Lava was too short and the number 9 “sounded good.” The other two women were jewelry designers, while Werner was a leather artisan, creating mostly jackets and bags. Conceived of as a gallery, Lava 9 comprised a showroom for their leather and metal wares and a stage that served as their workshops. They sold their creations and soon afterwards carried other wares, most of which were handmade and selected on Werner’s buying trips.
A True entrepreneurial spirit
Werner supplemented her income by working at another leather store, but quit when her business partner called one day to inform her that someone had stolen five of her leather jackets. Convinced the theft wouldn’t have occurred on her watch, Werner told herself, “That’s it!” The spontaneous decision to quit and put all of her energies into the store did not rest on whether or not she could do it financially. “It was the true entrepreneurial spirit,” Werner said, of the drive that sprang forth from her. She had told herself back then that it had to work. “And it did!” she exclaimed. When funds were low, Werner would sell two leather jackets the day before rent was due. “Things just worked out,” she said, simply.
One partner dropped out after three months, and the other left before the end of the first year after creative differences. Although the partnership didn’t work out, starting a business with others gave her a sense of security and “more power to do it.” When they left, she carried on without hesitation. “I was fine – I was the most determined,” she said, of the business venture and the solo effort. To this day, Werner, now 54, still subscribes to the philosophy of “Just do it” and not get too caught up with issues. At the same time, she has been frugal from a business perspective. “That’s what helped me through the downturns,” she explained. Just as important, Werner invested in a lot of sweat equity. “Hard work pays off,” she said.
A Passion for sewing
When Werner was a girl in Germany, her mother enrolled her in a sewing class, which sparked her passion for sewing and led to her taking design and pattern-making classes. As a teenager, she often designed and sewed outfits a few hours before going to parties. Although she earned her degree in special education, when Werner came to the U.S., seeking adventure, she turned to making small leather goods, which she sold at small venues such as the Haight Street Fair and other neighborhood street fairs. It often took weeks to craft a leather jacket because of the custom work – Werner would make the pattern, buy the leather and findings, and then sew the garment. She eventually hired a pattern maker and tailor. She still designs some bags, which are made by her tailor.
The Rise of Lava 9 in Berkeley
Werner opened up her Berkeley shop (1797 Solano Avenue, 510.528.5336) more than four years ago at the former location of Soap Sistahs after a experiencing a midlife crisis. At that time, she wanted to do something different and had designs on becoming a dog trainer (Werner has rescue dogs). But when she heard that the owner was closing the soap store and retiring to Mexico – a scenario that also greatly appealed to her – Werner decided to convert the storefront into the second Lava 9. The new location was ideal because Werner lives in Berkeley, but more importantly, designing and setting up the compact, rectangular-shaped store renewed her passion.
Although there is some crossover, the two cities boast different clientele, which means Werner must offer different products at each store. The Hayes Valley client is younger with more disposable income, whereas the Berkeley clientele is older. Interestingly, some of the Berkeley clients used to live in the Hayes Valley neighborhood but are now mothers whose kids attend the local school around the corner from Solano Avenue. For them, finding one of their favorite San Francisco stores in the East Bay is a pleasant surprise.
While many designers come to her to show their wares, Werner actively searches for solo artisans, both local and European, whose works are unique, eclectic, and multi-dimensional. One of her biggest challenges is offering something that isn’t carried by another local store. “It’s an ongoing struggle to be different,” she said. In addition to offering unique products, her philosophy is to be able to sell something to everybody – from 14-year-old girls to 86-year-old grandmothers. Thus, Lava 9 carries wares ranging in price from $15 headbands to $4,000 rings. While the handful of economic downturns through the years has led her to introduce more affordable items, her aesthetics and her customer service have created a large and loyal customer base. As an added personal touch and a Lava 9 trademark, purchases are carefully wrapped in high-end designer fabric – scraps supplied by a friend who works in the industry – and tied with festive ribbons.
Werner and her staff spend a lot of time with their customers, providing a personal shopping experience not found in most retail clothing stores. Managing the business and running between the two stores takes her away from making it an everyday experience, but the customer interaction is the thing that always draws her back and reminds her why she is still in business. “I love the people; I love all my customers,” she exclaimed, after helping one woman find the ideal belt and short trench, and another choose between two embellished scarves. Indeed, if you’ve ever been to Lava 9 and leisurely browsed through the collections of purses, scarves, belts, clothing, and, of course, jewelry, you can always expect a smile and being drawn into a friendly conversation.
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