For the Beauty of Berkeley

Hi Ladies,

I don't have time to make my post nearly as descriptive or poetic as the rest of yours but thought I'd share this great Berkeley Ward story with you nonetheless.

Last week in church the choir was singing that beautiful arrangement of For the Beauty of the Earth by John Retter (?). A woman from the back of the chapel started doing an interpretive dance up one aisle, across the front of the chapel, and down the other aisle. It was SO awesome! I was sitting next to Mindi Ritzman and the two of us couldn't stop laughing (silently of course). All the new members of our ward (we had 18 new families move in this summer) kept looking around with shocked looks on their faces, as if they were wondering if it was planned or something. Bishop Bob was barely holding in his laughter and had the biggest smile on his face. The sad part of the story is that the woman is the sister of one of the members (Cybelle D'Ambrosio) and she has some mental issues. Cybelle ran up, hugged her, and helped her out of the chapel. Everyone seemed to enjoy the performance, no one was offended. A visitor commented on how impressed they were with how the situation was handled by the whole congregation.

My only regret is that I didn't join her, in all my 9 months pregnant glory . . .

I love this town!

I hope you all are well.

Karen

These are some of my favorite things...

A few random things I miss about Berkeley:
1. Smelling the fragrance of the flowers as I walk through town
2. Seeing the fog roll in through the Golden Gate and cover the Bay area with a white coat of moisture
3. The view of the city from our apartment especially at night when nursing a baby or comforting a toddler. The magic in the twinkling of the lights and the beauty of the sun sets
4. The parade on May 1st that walks all the way to campus on Telegraph
5. Bumper stickers, especially political ones against the current government
6. Going to the Cheese Board and testing all kinds of cheeses before meticulously choosing one
7. Taking the kids to all the fun museums
8. Basking in that perfect sunlight on any given afternoon (or almost any afternoon)
9. The food culture
10. People walking places

The Fire Lane

It was the closest thing we had to a yard. The fire lane in our apartment complex in Berkeley was a large stretch of asphalt directly in front of our apartments. When you walked out of your front door (your only exterior door) you faced a massive stretch of asphalt. The fire lane. Originally created so that fire trucks or other helpful vehicles could find their way to our apartments, the fire lane was now peppered with toy cars, small bikes, and sand toys. The fire lane was the children's playground. Our offspring congregated there to play imaginary games, ride tricycles, and chase one another. On the weekends, the fire lane transformed itself into Party Central. Various groups held BBQ's, sitting around 'til all hours of the morning. The fire lane is where my girlfriends and I congregated as well. Almost daily. Like Marie-Laure in Berkeley Bowl, I gained my most valuable insights while sitting in the fire lane.

One specific memory recalls a day when I was overwhelmed with postpartum depression. I didn't know what it was at the time. But I was sad. So sad. I had an eighteen-month-old and a two-week-old. On this particular afternoon, I was pacing through my apartment, wringing my hands at the confusion around me. Until I heard voices. My girlfriends were outside. They sat in the sunshine and discussed some recipe they had discovered. I grabbed my baby bjorn, my perfect newborn, and my precious toddler. It was all I could do to make it out there without pulling my hair out. And then it all went away. The sadness didn't seem so sad. I sat at the picnic table of the asphalt playground and listened to my friends. I closed my eyes and held my face toward the perfect Berkeley afternoon. The sun, the slight wind, the smell of eucalyptus mixed with someone's early dinner. The depression melted into nothing, and my dearest friends' supportive glances and happy suggestions filled the scary void. Over the next few years, the fire lane became the most beautiful resting place. I looked to it for peace, support, comfort, and sun. It was our yard. We didn't have anything else. And I learned in the fire lane that sister-friends (as I like to call them) make any setting the most beautiful place in the entire world.

Yoga lesson

Liesl Brown will always be my favorite yoga teacher. She is the one who introduced yoga into my life. I loved her classes. Her kindness, patience and love shined throughout our practices. Her voice was soothing, her world view brought comfort. Once at the end of our practice when we were all feeling the peace of shavasana she asked us to send that peace to one of our friend who had started chemotherapy. Our practices made me also laugh at times... everyone who remembers the community center at Smyth will understand. It was a gross room, and by that I mean disgusting. The carpet was so dirty that it was impossible to distinguish its color under the many stains; in the winter the room was so humid that the floor was slimy and wet. That’s were our yoga mats rested... as long as I could contain my body on the mat I did not care about the state of the carpet. But as soon as contact was to happen I took every precautions not to touch ‘it’. And every time I looked over to Jennette I knew I would see the same limb hoovering above the groung as to protect it from any contact with the mustard mass underneath. If you could raise your sight higher than the ground then your eyes met the most wonderful view of the Bay area, the lights of the city were sparkling everywhere, the last rays of the setting sun bathed the Golden Gate with a magic light...
Thank you Liesl for sharing with me your love of yoga, it has become a very positive and helpful source in my life, and if I may I want to tell you more about it...
The first few minutes after yoga are the most enjoyable like a whole body massage, the muscles are alive and the mind is peaceful. Since moving from Berkeley to Provo I have been practicing Yoga on BYU campus but the other day I went to a new studio. The class was wonderful and challenging. I came out of it happy and calm, my mind reconnected to my body, the stress of the day evaporated and each muscle invigorated with new energy. As I walked back to the car I was taking a mental note of how wonderful I was feeling. Really, I felt so good all over even down to my feet. Even walking was somehow different. I could not put words to it, just a nice kind of different right there on my soles, right there where the straps from my flip flops were rubbing on my skin, my feet were so alive... Mmmm! that was a good practice!
I got home to the quietness of sleeping children, and the prospect of a nice visit with Chip. In the course of the evening as I was walking pass the front door a scream escaped my lips. Right there next to the door I was shocked to see a strange pair of blue flip flops, the wonderful feeling on my feet had come from walking and then driving in a fellow yogi's shoes.... They felt different because not only their soles were thinner than mine are but also they were slightly too small for me, too tight even on the sides...
So what should I learn from this? Are minutes after yoga so intoxicating with well being that my foot wear can be smaller and tighter and I think it is none the less better? Or should I pay more attention to the poor feet that carry me everywhere as to not dress them in the first pair of flip flops I can (barely) fit in?
The most embarrassing was calling the studio, and try to sound somewhat coherent about the whole flip flop toss.

Learn life, go to the Bowl

Before entering the Bowl we had to park the car in a cramped and crowded parking lot. Already it was an exercise in patience and politeness. I have known drivers to take a spot I was waiting for with my blinkers (you know the sign for 'I am going to park here either wait or go around me') right in front of my bewildered eyes... others have brutally honked at me as I was getting my 3 children and my groceries in the car, the process was too slow and too long for the hurried shopper.

Once in the store, the feast for the eyes and the hands that could handle all the wonderful foods made up for anything else or almost...
Our routine was simple; get a baguette and feed the children from it so they were entertained and stayed calm. Then it was the olive sampling... no matter how early in the morning we were there, my kids (especially Mathilde) would eat the olives and ask for more...
Then the aisles took us through the store filling our cart with wonderful foods to finally lead us in the fruits and vegetables area. There the choice is so formidable that I still long for it. Tomatoes come in all shapes and colors, the lettuce goes beyond butter and red leaf to frisée and mâche... everything ever needed to cook is right there at the Berkeley Bowl.
I also remember with fondness all the advice I got about raising a family while I was trapped waiting in the long line at the cash register. That is where I have learned for example that Mathilde's 2 calices were a sign for good luck in China.
Beyond the excitement of finding exactly what the family loves or an unusual ingredient for a recipe, a walk shopping at the Berkeley Bowl is an exercise in civility and courtesy. It is a win-or-lose kind of experience. I have met the strangest kinds of people there and once my encounters led me to a conclusion I still hold about what really goes on at the Bowl.
Let me take you back to our favorite spot... that would be the olive bar. Mathilde is quietly enjoying the taste of the juicy black olives while I am filling up a container (not for her to eat while I shop but to take home, really). Linnea is a new born baby in her car seat and since Mathilde is also sitting in the cart, I literally had a cart full of children. A lady (her cart was touching mine right in front of us) starts yelling "get out of my way." Not only am I shocked to hear such words but also very sleep deprived from nursing a newborn and therefore really slow... I don't move out of harm and danger fast enough for the belligerent shopper who starts ramming my cart with hers... Ah, such aggressiveness and anger left me teary and shaken.
When I reflect on the lady I remember that she was wearing slippers. That detail, unusual enough, coupled with her actions made me think that she might have been mentally handicapped. The crowds that pour in the Berkeley Bowl daily can transform shoppers into impatient and rude specters of themselves. Some though can be completely crazy. Here are my conclusions about the Bowl: I think that there might be a mental institution that sends its patients to Berkeley Bowl. If they shop without being aggressive then it is their ticket into society again. The lady at the olive bar failed miserably that day... but since that experience, every time I have returned I have wondered if the Bowl isn’t actually a test of my sanity. But even if I occasionally failed the test, the produce and olives were worth the trip.