Wandering Pie

Happy Earth Day, Walk Barefoot.

2013-04-22T12:58:00.002-07:00

Happy Earth Day, Walk Barefoot. | Kristen Caven | Blog Post | Red Room

I'll be blogging all week with book giveaways on Redroom. Here's the first one... anyone remember clodhoppers?

I remember reading this wonderful Sci Fi series when I was high school about Thomas (Somebody) and The Land. He walked barefoot on the mountain trails, and could feel what was happening with The Land, which was being killed by boot-wearing armies with plots of their own. As someone who had consciously worked, as a child, to build up callouses on tender spring feet so I could go barefoot all summer, I GOT it. I read this book at the time people were wearing “clodhoppers” with flannel shirts… and when I laced mine up, I could feel the senses of my soles becoming benumbed by rubber.

And there was something about Cinderella’s feet that intrigued me so much I had to write this story. Here she is, a scullery maid who, like the poor, like the indigenous, is earthbound. You really don’t need shoes to feed chickens, to clean floors. There is something good for your soul to have your soles touching the earth. And there is something about shoes that can separate you from your essence.

When you read my book, you will think about shoes in a way you haven’t before. Harry has quite the philosophy about shoes that he spouts in the song he sings to Ashley. But I just thought of something new about Cinderella’s shoe that I wish I’d put in the book. Maybe it will have to go into the musical: A glass slipper is like a window on the sole.

I’m doing book giveaways all week to celebrate the book launch of The Souls of Her Feet. Today I will give a book away to anyone who can tell me the name of that story about Thomas Something and The Land. OR anyone who can provide a link to the Clodhoppers I'm talking about - they just don't come up in Google Search!!

Forward on Climate Change!

2013-02-19T14:04:00.002-08:00

I went to the Forward on Climate Change rally Sunday in San Francisco.

I thought about all the things I should have done to promote my pet project, Idle Free Oakland, especially since the excitement these days comes from Idle No More, but with so much on my plate this spring, I couldn't get myself quite organized. But I'm so glad I went! It was the largest climate rally ever, and I'm hoping my presence might make a difference.

It was lovely. Well-organized, peaceful, fun, and short. Native Americans opened with prayers, the air smelled like sage, and there were cute dogs everywhere. We really have to stop Keystone XL, and here's why.

The rally was sponsored by 350.org, which is the organization that's giving us the best leadership on this terrible worldwide problem. It's about science, and it's about math, and they explain it so simply:

Our climate is changing because of too much atmospheric CO2.
The safe upper limit for atmospheric CO2 is 350 parts per million.
We currently have 394 ppm (this changes; see the carbon calcuator in the column on the right>>>)
We need to get BACK to 350. Like, asap!

Stuff I liked:

A polar bear
A "Leave it in the Ground" sign
A high school senior who said, "You guys are always talking about a better future for your children and grandchildren. Well, I'm a kid... and I want a better future for myself!"
These kids with their cool signs
Speakers who really believe we can get back to 350 in our lifetime.
San Francisco's upcoming resolution to divest and ballot option to go all green energy.
A guy who is trying to educate folks about Thorium, which looks like the answer to nuclear energy.
Another speaker recalled learning about climate change in school in the 1970s. "We've wasted 40 years of inaction in 'debate'." Idle no more, right?

This guy with the mask and the sign says it all.

Can you stand up with me and millions of others and and tell the guy "NO KXL?" Here's a petition. Here's another.

Catch-Up Cobbler

2013-01-09T13:36:00.000-08:00

My Last-Minute Cobbler of 2012 showed up in inboxes in early January, 2013.

It was so very long that I couldn't get a clip of it, but the main thrust was:

I'd been writing a book about bullying all year

The blook had been publishing to an audience of 52

My websites and blogs all had makeovers, and

Lots of bad crap happened to me in the fall.

Read it and weep!

Goodbye, Cruel World.

2012-12-21T18:00:00.002-08:00

At sunrise today, my 15-year-old and I were parked high up in Oakland’s majestic Mountain View Cemetery, sipping spicy chocolate (thank you Mayans) and waiting for the world to end.

It didn’t, of course; every time we thought we spotted a zombie it turned out to be a pre-dawn dog-walker or jogger.

Stone angels, animals, saints, goddesses, and mythical creatures on the gravestones and tombs raised their wings, horns, hands, and faces to the sky, as pink light crept up the highrises in the distance. All morning the family’d been discussing all the possible world endings: nuclear war and winter; that asteroid; the Rapture. I told him about the four horsemen of the apocalypse and he immediately suggested how fun it would be to ride around town dressed in black, yellow, red and white with his friends. I told him about the seven seals.

The world has been ending for a hundred years or more. The seals have long since been broken. We tore open the seal of the earth’s crust to get to coal, oil, and natural gas, paying the price and reaping the benefits. The human body is no longer sealed; open-heart surgery overcame death for so many. Breaking the atom opened up our world to the horrors of fusion, but tapped into the power of the gods. The Exxon Valdez was only the first of many catastrophic leaks of earth’s secret goo into the clear waters of the life-giving oceans; now water lights on fire coming out of the tap.

The seal of mystery that shielded our knowledge of genetics was torn open to give us cloning, and all the varieties of birth we now routinely enjoy broke the sacred seal of the womb. We broke gravity’s spell with flight and space flight; the consequence being a tear in the sky, in the ozone layer that protects us from the life-giving sun’s dark side.

We destroyed the isolation of the Self and the Family with the warm lights and noises of communications. There is no longer a sense of space between us, since we can see each other’s faces and hear each other’s voices anytime we choose (if we’ve got the right equipment.) (Perhaps time itself has been broken now that we seem to record all of life’s moments). Even war no longer takes the effort of building up a militia or an army; it is practiced daily by children with strong thumbs. When guns are handy, it breaks out in its newest form—pure, random annihilation—in the unlikeliest of places.

A flock of birds passed by—seagulls and crows flying together. I told my son about the Thanksgiving we spent in Disneyland when he was three. It was the first year that The Nightmare Before Christmas took over the Haunted House. (Breaking a seal of some sort or other…) We stood on the platform of the train depot and surveyed the crowds on Main Street, excited for the tree to light up. But the cozy, private feeling that a crowd of humans gets when lights go on (be it for Christmas, Hanukkah, or Diwali) was spoiled by the non-humans who crowded the square. The raw voices of two hundred crows drowned out the Christmas music. When the flock took flight they darkened the sunset skies with their rushing wings, chilling our normal feelings of hope. Was it an omen? Sure it was. The millennium turned and more previously unimaginable horrors unfolded. Towers fell. IEDs exploded. Money was made. All the broken seals let in the hurricanes and fires, just as predicted. The theme of the times came clear, spoken best by former Nazis soldiers who had done their duty, kept ignorant of the great evil by their tiny field of vision: “We didn’t know.”

We turned on the radio to see if there was any news and, to our delight, REM was singing, It’s The End of The World As We Know It. “Do you think you’ll be tired of this song by the end of the day?” I ask the kid. “I could never get tired of this song,” he grins. “It’s awesome.” His dad played five more great songs before we left this morning: When the Sun Goes Nova by Bruce Cockburn; Apocalypso by Jimmy Buffet; ‘Love You ‘till the End of the World by Nick Cave, and ‘Til the End of the World by U2. The world ending is one of our favorite themes, celebrated by so many of our favorite books and movies. Dr. Strangelove. Mad Max. Planet of the Apes. 12 Monkeys. The Stand. Fight Club. Good Omens.

On some graves, beautiful paperwhites are blooming, traditionally the first flower of spring. “The world really is ending,” I say quietly. He asks me what I mean. “For the seahorses.” I’m wearing seahorse earrings. For the herps, honeybees, and snuffed-out songbirds. “Everything seems so normal and lovely up here, but we’re having the most massive species dieoff since dinosaur days.” “Oh, yeah, climate change,” he says, tired of science. Then the radio tells us Gangnam Style just got a billion hits.

Yes, we know we’re all just having fun with the day. “Hey, I just thought of something,” the manchild says. “Today a calendar ends, not time itself.”

I raise my Xoclatl to Mayans, who saw time as a circle. The circular heirloom pin from Guatemala that I’m wearing on my lapel is now obsolete. We sip our chocolate and trip on the moment; today ends not only a 5125 year cycle, but a 30,000 year galactic cycle and a bunch of other cycles, too. On the solstice, the world always feels like it’s ending. That’s why the early Christians put Christmas right after; pagans were already cheering the return of the sun.

I tell him about the Age of Aquarius, and the spiritual hope that what today truly symbolizes is a consciousness shift. Good riddance to this age of breaking, destroying, conquering, and dominating. We’ve all had enough of that.

Worlds are big things that end and are born slowly, with many overlapping timelines. I spent the last months of 13 Baktun finishing a book about bullying, which frames the problem as an essentially spiritual issue, and a human rights issue. It’s got so much good stuff in it that it might make a tiny ripple that nourishes the new world that has been beginning for some time.

In some ways my own life feels as if it’s ended; after a few months of overlapping small-scale catastrophes (death, robbery, data loss, fallen trees, fender-benders), I wander around in a concussion-induced daze, tired all the time. My lights are low and I haven’t felt like myself in months. I said a silent prayer that tomorrow really would bring new goodness to earth, or just a good day.

Raindrops fell on the window and the headache was coming on. But the party didn't end.

A Mann-tle full of Mann-imals

2012-11-28T14:01:00.000-08:00

These pictures say what words cannot.

Goodbye Jeanne Mann (you creative jeanne-ius)... you will be missed by all of us.

5 Wishes for our Second Term

2012-11-11T13:15:00.001-08:00

I only have five small wishes for the next four years. Okay, they're big wishes. But they're good ones that will make the country more safe, sane, and sustainable.

Some of these are links to petitions, others are still links are to more information. Please share any new developments and serious petitions in the comments here or on FB.

*(subwishes include subsidizing renewables, ratifying Kyoto protocols, and adopting 350ppm as a national security priority)

Walk-Off Pie

2012-10-10T22:27:00.001-07:00

I don't know what the A's recipe for a success is this year (I suspect it has to do with math), but I just invented this dessert in honor of the Oakland A's. (There is no math required.)

Ingredients:
One box of Cocoa Crispies
One tub of Reddi-Whip
One handful of peanuts, in shell
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
Green and yellow sprinkles
One Magic Marker

Using the Magic Marker, edit the tub of Reddi-Whip to read, "Reddick Whip." Edit the Cocoa Crispies to read "Coco Crisps." (We'll just call the butters "batters.")

Shell the peanuts, throw shells on the floor.

In a microwave-safe bowl, mix four cups of the Coco Crisps with the "batters" and peanuts. Press into a pie pan and chill. When stiff, spoon the Reddick Whip into the shell. Sprinkle with sprinkles.

Serve directly to the face.

http://oakland.athletics.mlb.com/oak/fan_forum/wallpaper.jsp

New Lyrics for "Olympic Theme"

2012-07-30T14:29:00.000-07:00

Now we can sing along while watching the show!

-------------------

Look, world, I’m on TV!
I’m at the Olympics, the best that I can be

Playing for my country,
I bring the Olympics the best of humanity.

Running, and jumping, shooting in archery!
Swimming, and stroking, balancing on my knee!
Throwing, and skating, showing you I can ski!
Flipping, and leaping, hoping for victory!

(musical bridge)

Riding, and rowing (I love the diversity);
Fighting, and reaching for my place in history!

----------------
© Kristen Caven 2012
for Dave Caven

A Tale of Two Schools (and Charles)

2012-06-26T12:36:00.001-07:00

An enormous banner hangs above the freeway near my house: Keep All Our Schools Open. Nearby, tents are set up outside a school that has been slated to close. Families are staked out in grief, frustration and desperation, wishing they could stop the tide of budget cuts that have taken their toll on this town since people voted, thirty-five years ago, to pay fewer taxes.

The school district is caught in a bind. With less money for teachers, their services dropped, and parents who could left the schools. With fewer students, the money was spread too thin. To keep all schools from going under, they have to close a handful. A handful of beauties, like Lakeview School, an Art Deco gem that predates the highway that practically climbs over it.

School populations wax and wane with the generations. These sturdy and buildings have a lifespan that is often too short. Of course, schools are more than buildings; they are communities of people traveling through time together. Young teachers do their best to help the children of young families. These teachers will grow older and the students will grow up. The parents will go on to be active at other schools. Principals come and go. The building abides.

There was an old school building in Denver that met such a fate back in the 1970s. Built in 1902, Byers School saw five generations pass through its old doors, each one leaving the building marked and scarred with their passing.

In the 1980s a creative developer named Charles Nash saw something in this forgotten place and turned it into condominiums. I worked for him on my summer vacation; my whole family did. While my mother worked as his business assistant, her three teenagers swept out debris, caulked cracks, washed walls. We tore out broken linoleum and found wood floors underneath. We blistered off and sanded down a quarter inch of paint to reveal wood paneling, including some initials scratched into the wood by a penknife while waiting for the principal.

Charles designed each unit with a reverence for the history that was in his hands. He polished the wood floors back to life. He laquered the carvings in place. He left the green chalkboards exposed, with an eraser and some chalk in each tray. He recognized my artistic talents and put me in charge of giving a rescued carousel horse a makeover, for the front lobby.

Lakeview School is Occupied, capital O, a new hotspot for righteous anger at the carelessness with which the super-duper-rich make decisions that benefit themselves and leave children to the brutal tides of fate. Charles was rich, not one-percent rich, but well-off, successful, and generous. Over the years he became part of our family and was always generous with us, helping with college, with celebrations, and one summer, plane tickets to Europe. He lived elegantly, but not lavishly, his strivings toward beauty, not power.

In addition to Byers School and the dozens of old houses he renovated, Charles turned an abandoned church into homes as well (as time changes, churches are going the way of public schools), and his life's achievment was restoring a decrepit hot springs in the Rockies (and possibly haunted—my mother-in-law saw a body in the pool when she went for swimming lessons there as a child) into a gorgeous retreat and sought-after spa. He could see the potential in a place lost and unloved. He could see beauty in his mind's eye where others saw rust stains and mold. And he could call that beauty forth with a little time, effort, elbow-grease, and team building.

Typically, I would be focusing on education crisis here, but I'm filled with memories of an old friend who taught me to be a preservationist. Charles died somewhat tragically last week, and we will miss him. My brother, who bonded to him most deeply of all, lost a father. There are thousands who see Charles' sculptures and sit by his fountains and scribble on his chalkboards and sit in the spot on their carpet where colored light comes through the stained glass, who will never know the person who saw them doing so long before they did.

I wish the world had a thousand Charleses, who could see broken spaces and hopeless cases and intervene with powerful whimsy. I wish there were someone with the imagination to see Lakeview School, and Maxwell Park School, and Lazear, Marshall, and Santa Fe... and all the schools closing across the country... as living and evolving things. I feel pain for the families of Lakeview, whose love for their community is not strong enough to keep things stable. I admire their actions, which will teach such an amazing lesson to their children, whether they succeed or fail. Life is full of change, of loss, and surprises, not all of them good.

All in all, I dream of good architecture —both material and financial—that understands this. To have good architects, you need good education, and you need a place for everything. Down the road I dream of Lakeview as a new place of learning, a community center near a restored vintage theater and a vibrant park, where people live or stay for a while in rooms with chalkboards, where people learn new things, find new strengths in themselves, and make new friends.

May Cobbler Be With You

2012-05-21T17:40:00.001-07:00

In which I launch the blook!

And I reminisce on the Zumbathon...

And a movie starring TINA FEYwants to use Renaissance Woman as set decoration!

click to read more...

Total Eclipse of the Son

2012-05-21T12:18:00.000-07:00

As the light weakened yesterday evening, I got this sorry feeling in the pit of my stomach, being one of those who gets S.A.D. when the light goes. But my husband whipped up an eclipse box, neighbors came out, and soon we were all playing with the little crescent-shaped shadows the sun made everywhere as the world didn't end.

I remembered a solar eclipse twenty-some years ago that occurred just as I was pondering making a move with a guy I liked. I heard on the radio that from a psychic point of view when the sun and moon cross, it's a good augur for male/female relations. Here we were, playing with the sun and our son. Throughout the evening I realized how often our smaller problems often eclipse our bigger ones.

Caveman Fever

2012-05-09T16:23:00.003-07:00

I've just had the most interesting conversation with my old roommate, Daniel Suelo, who is now very famous for giving up money. (No, that's not why we stopped living together.) I kidnapped him after his booksigning last night, so I could give him some free stuff and feel good about myself. (Actually, I wanted him to meet my family.) And now the time comes for him to get back to San Francisco so he can meet up with the author of his biography and get on to the next stop on their freakishly popular (thank you, the 99%) book tour.

Rockin' the new caveman fan fashion trend....

Daniel and I reminisced about living in a six-person household in Boulder, Colorado in the mid 1980s. We were a ragtag bunch of ungrounded youth, unsure of what to do with our lives, collected by my big brother Damian, who had met Daniel in a Religion course at CU. All we wanted to do was talk philosophy, listen to the new Sting solo album, and eat leftover rice from The Harvest, Boulder's most happening natural restaurant, where my little brother Felix was a busboy. We managed to get along okay with little to no money, not (of course) by choice, being resourceful and helping each other through our problems. We built important life skills together, like home dentistry. (Today's Obamacare kids have it so easy, enjoying dad's health insurance 'til age 26!)

Boulder has, or at least had, at the time, anti-commune laws leftover from the 1960s, so when the landlord found out there were six unrelated people living together in his suburban home, he evicted us. Before we moved, we contemplated easier solutions. For example, since three of us were related already, I could just marry Daniel, and then the household would be over 50% related. It was almost worth it to get married just so we could hyphenate our names: "Daniel and Kristen Shellabarger-Baumgardner." Even better: Shellabaum-Gardnerbarger.

Back to today. Since my almost-hubby doesn't use money, I'm planning to give him the gift of a BART ticket. But hmmm.... He has to make a Muni connection. How to deal with that? Daniel's choice to break up with money brings up so many curious and interesting questions. (FAQs are here.) Is it aesceticism or aestheticism? How do you live in a mindset of acceptance? What if you break your leg? How do you eat a thistle? We discussed the many options of him getting from BART to Muni. Would he hop the train? Could he stand around with the book in his hand and hope someone came up to offer him a ticket? Hold up a sign that says, "I don't use money. Help me get on this train."

I've been peppering him with questions all morning, (help him train for the Santa Cruz audience, of course,) but now I really want to know: "Do you EVER use money, if someone gives it to you?"

He replies, "sometimes people will give me money to buy something they need, but I don't use it to buy something for myself."

"So, If I gave you $2, could you buy a Muni ticket for my friend Daniel?" Ha HA! I trapped him with my clever logic! He grins and blushes, deeply.

But I don't want to be the one to come between a man and his art—and I do believe he is living his art. I'll just give him a ride and enjoy the adventure.

Barefoot Avengers (a.k.a. "The Perilous Pumps of Pepper Potts)

2012-05-05T17:36:00.001-07:00

I was a little grumpy getting dressed to go see The Avengers today. Inspired by the viral pics of Avenger eyes that populated Pinterest this week, I wanted to dress up a bit to see the movie my family's been waiting for since the tag on the first Ironman movie in 2007. But I don't have a Marvel favorite like the boys do. Donald wore his cool Tony Stark shirt with the glow-in-the-dark Arc Reactor and Dave, of course, Spiderman.

"Black Widow?" Dave suggested.

"Boring," I said, wondering if I could fashion sort of a Thor-ette fur cape; I always had a thing for Valkyries. "I wear black three times a week." With a sigh, I pulled out my red leather boots and Wonder Woman t-shirt, even though she's so DC.

I love Ironman. I want to be Tony Stark just as much as my son does... the cars, the gadgets, the architecture, the careless brilliance, the charm, and of course: the fun fun flying! But I confess I spent much of the first movie worrying about the perilous pumps of Pepper Potts. I could really relate to Stark's uber-competent administrative assistant, without whom he's nothing; I've been there many-a-time. But those fuck-me pumps really put her in grave danger. There she was in the third act, racing through the Arc Reactor lab, thinking on her feet, so physically and emotionally vulnerable on those spindly legs, running from danger. And then it blows up, and action moves back to Tony in his super-suit fighting with Obadaiah Stain in his super-duper suit, and all I can think about is: did Pepper's heels get caught in those metal grates? I am so relieved to see her again, when she appears to put band-aids on Tony's face.

I really loved when Natalia "Natasha" Alianovna Romanova, a.k.a. the Black Widow, showed up in the second movie. For one thing, she and Pepper never really competed, which is what Hollywood tends to make pretty and competent women do whenever they're in a room together, as if there is only room for One Per Movie or Man. (In real life, smart/gorgeous/amazing women adore and inspire and bond with each other.) The movie passed the Bechtel Test in the first scene Natsasha shows up, when Pepper is interviewing her about her mad skills with professional respect. And when she fought... she fought in flats! I know there's some sort of weird respect for superheroines who fight in high heels... but anyone who's ever broken a board (or a face) knows that your power comes from your balance, and the soles of the feet are as important as an open, sensing palm.

So when I saw Pepper in the opening scene of The Avengers, I nearly made a fool of myself by standing up and applauding when I saw her walking around the penthouse lab in cutoffs and...yes, bare feet! I don't know if there was any sort of "pregnant and..." implication here, but to me, a girl who spent shoeless summers running around fields and gravel creek beds and jumping on horses...this was a symbol of feminine power realized.

That is the ONLY spoiler you'll get in this review, and you'll be glad to be surprised by the rest. I came out of the movie not caring what I wore; the writing was so satisfying and layered I won't need to see another movie for a week. Or two. But I still wonder how to beg my Marvel-ous movie contemporaries (I was born in the same year as Joss Whedon so, it's almost like I know him) to introduce a new strong female character to the Avengers. Someone with total earth powers and the ability to heal and nurture life. Someone with a good costume.

St. John's ForNever...

2012-04-23T20:31:00.002-07:00

Awww... I didn't win the contest to update the lyrics for my alma mater. So, here's what the world missed...

(Click here to start soundtrack...)

here's the old version:

St. John’s forever; her fame shall never die.
Fight for her colors! We’ll raise them to the sky!
Each loyal son pledges you his heart and hand;
For her united, we as brothers stand.

here's my new version:
St. John’s forever! Your wisdom through us flows.
Bless your sons and daughters with knowledge that grows.
Johnnies eternally discussing love and law
For her united, we fight for ta kala! *

At convocation our odyssey begins
And with each page’s turning the mind of Man opens
The logos of freedom to seek reality.
Dialogues and elements our only rivalry.

As we continue our journey of the mind
Through discourses and amalgests, a greater truth we find.
Our nature strives toward beauty through sonnets, songs, and art:
The eidos of creation within the human heart.

Through fables, treatises, pensées, we feel the years fly by
Critiques, essays, principia our knowledge amplify
Contracts, novels, theories fill our precious days
Declarations, constitutions, operas, preludes, plays.

Speeches, fragments, poems, phenomenology;
Thoughts of great minds forming our own philosophy.
Past war and peace and quantum leaps, our epic journey ends,
And we become liberis, your books our cherished friends.

Now we have walked with giants, yet for all we’ve learned,
Endings are beginnings; for knowledge we still yearn.
Not content with laurels, the examined life’s our goal.
St. John’s eternal! The mater of my soul.

St. John’s forever! Your wisdom through us flows.
Bless your sons and daughters with knowledge that grows.
Johnnies eternally discussing love and law
For her united, we fight for ta kala! *

© 2012 Kristen Baumgardner Caven

*Alt: We read and waltz and play croquet and fight for ta kala!

Peace Wants a Piece of the Pie | Mother's Day National Action

2012-03-21T09:31:00.002-07:00

Mother's Day began with mothers coming together and calling for greater wisdom and diplomacy, their hearts sick from losing their sons to senseless wars.

The Peace Alliance understands that building peace takes as much effort and energy as preparing for war, and is our best national defense.

I love this campaign! And I plan to make a pie this year. Join me!

Peace Wants a Piece of the Pie | Mother's Day National Action

Leap Day Cobbler

2012-03-01T09:55:00.003-08:00

The Leap Day issue of the Cobbler called readers to action with this quote from 30 Rock: "Every four years you get a magical extra day! A day to do the things you ordinarily wouldn't do - to take chances!"

Then I discussed my own "leap" into web fiction and begged readers to sign up to read my forthcoming BLOOK.

I also introduced my first kindle book, let readers know about my free ebook, and announced a new blog about LOLs.

The featured 'stuff' was the "Sorry about your Uterus" card and the Relax t-shirt.

FREE E-Book: Inside the Mills Revolution

2012-02-26T21:47:00.002-08:00

"This cartoon journal won a ﬁrst place prize in the 1990 Bay Guardian cartoon contest, catapulting its author into a glamorous international career"

Inside the Mills Revolution

The Reason She Left on Goodreads

2011-12-29T15:08:00.000-08:00

The Reason She Left by Kristen Caven

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What I love about graphic novels and cartoons is the way you can distill ideas and pack emotion into the theater of the page. This was a thrilling project to work on, as I attempted to pack years of learning into thirty pages. I wrote this story over twenty years ago, and was pleased to find how well it's held up. As a matter of fact, it feels stronger, in some ways, to me, as the world has NOT learned the lessons it needs to, yet, and needs more original thoughts and voices.

The most amusing thing to me is how even people close to me call this an autobiographical work, even though the plot, setting, and all the characters are made up. I take that as a compliment that I write convincingly!

I hope this work finds its readership among smart and curious people, especially women who are having trouble feeling like their voice is being heard.

You can order it from Indiebound, Amazon, my website, or get the ebook on scribd.

View all my reviews

Cobbler Cheer, 2011-style

2011-12-28T08:09:00.001-08:00

The year of 2011 wrapped up with highlights from our funniest xmas card, the holiday letter I didn't write, and an image of the Caven family Xmas card (Dave took the lead this year).

I cheered about reuniting with my composer, made predictions for my career, and shared a link to a very terrible shirt I made with my son.

Pumped up Kicks

2011-12-07T07:01:00.001-08:00

Good morning, KFOG.
I tried to call in during the song that woke me up this morning, but there was no answer.
"All the other kids better run, better run... faster than my bullet."
This is an upbeat song about a kid shooting other kids. I like the catchy tune, but the song is morally twisted, and not in a good way; it's sociopathic and horrible. There is no frame of reference for the evil sentiment. The songwriter said he was 'exploring the mind of a young killer,' but it sounds more like he's glorifying it. At least with A Clockwork Orange there was some framing of the sentiment of cheerful violence, and a resolution at the end. (And songs like Jeremy, I Don't Like Mondays, etc. at least reflect an authentic emotional tone.) This song says, "it's okay and fun to kill other people! I like it!" It feels like the normalization of a phenomenon that destroys the fabric of American lives over and over again.
On the plus side, a comment made on the YouTube video did tip off Phoenix police that a 14-year-old was inspired by this song, and his rampage was prevented.
I'm a big fan of whimsy, even serious whimsy, but this song really upsets me, and I always turn off the radio when I hear it. But I like KFOG, especially in the mornings, and figured it would be worth the trouble to ask: Could you please not play it anymore? The tune gets stuck in my head for hours, and I hate myself. Maybe ask your other listeners what they think.
Thanks,
Kristen Caven
Oakland parent

Eleven Eleven Eleven Cobbler

2011-11-11T11:11:00.001-08:00

Things felt a little magical to me on 11-11-11; I snapped a photo of myself at 11:11:11a.m. and sent a wish for the world.

I was excited about some upcoming events, namely a quickie reading of The Reason She Left, and a table sale with a really cool person at a really hip venue.

I also announced my new sideline career as a Zumba instructor and my work on the novelization of my musical.

It was awesome, I tell ya!

What kind of pie does the 99% need now?

2011-11-04T22:30:00.000-07:00

Occu-pie! Photo by Howard Dyckoff/Oakland Local
The sweet side of the movement! Photo by Howard Dyckoff/Oakland Local

YES on #Occupy!

2011-10-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Here's my Letter to the Editor on 10/21... (read all of them here).

Like individuals, banks and corporations must take responsibility for their mistakes and failures. Like individuals, they need to contribute taxes to the greater good and do their part to keep our schools, hospitals, and roads open.

Unlike other recent political movements -- funded by the superrich to serve their own political interests (Google 'tea party funding') -- the Occupy Wall Street (which is everywhere) movement unifies many grass roots movements under a common banner of economic justice.

Our popularly-elected president is powerless to turn the tide of corruption alone. The 1 percent uses its financial savvy to exploit loopholes for their own benefit. They throw their wealth behind politicians who glorify ignorance and block measures that would help the people. They hire the best PR firms to help spread fear-based propaganda and Orwellian doublespeak to the mindless media, keeping Americans bickering about the news instead of working together to help ourselves. Why? To protect their bottom line.

Mathematically, the 99 percent cannot all be on the left. We are the growing poor, the diminishing middle class, and yes, even the well-off and wealthy.

We are the exhausted "thousand points of light" who have been shoring up the system since trickle-down economics began. Our personal freedoms, our personal finances, our human rights, our cities, our schools, our environment, and all species are all in trouble -- and to occupy is to say, "enough!"

Presenting: Fresh, New Cobbler!

2011-10-01T08:27:00.000-07:00

A fresh redesign of my Wandering Pie columnblognewsletter came with exciting news: the arrival of a box of my second book, The Reason She Left.

The sidebar announced more exciting news: my first nationally published magazine article. (A good, funny, and exciting writing experience, but what I learned later was: this publisher doesn't pay his bills.)

I was also excited about a host of upcoming events surrounding my book launch.

I didn't believe in cancer (for Michele)

2011-09-28T15:18:00.000-07:00

Michele, I don’t want to say goodbye to you. I don’t want this world to be without you — baby fanatic, mother motherer, visionary, compassionate soul. I’m very angry at this cancer thing! I never wanted to believe it was real. YOU, of all people, so passionate about creating a healthy life and healthy lives! But I am so grateful that you shared the adventure with me. I am so grateful to have had you as a mommy-mentor, client, partner, fan, friend, and inspiration.

How do you say goodbye to someone who catalyzed so much? Child-Friendly Initiative—a group of incredibly capable mommies at a critical time—who made a noise that started a movement that led to the family bathrooms and airport nursing stations we now rely on - and even made an impression on the United Nations! Even the CFI fundraisers left a legacy, amazing events with amazing art. (Amazing - one of Michele's favorite words.) Those gorgeous Art of Life bellies are still a gift to the world. And we've still got a Chair-ity for Children chair my kid no longer fits!

You don’t say goodbye; you can’t. As we all learned in our time with Michele, babies grow up. Some day they'll have babies. Friends move away and make new friends. The mysteries – the things you don’t know - keep one step ahead of the accomplishments, the things you do know. Life comes and goes, but love, laughter, and amazing beauty are everywhere, ever-renewing.

Michele told me a secret, earlier this year; perhaps it’s no longer a secret. She had had a few glasses of wine after one of her amazing cancer healings, then went down to visit Hannah in college. Wandering around campus, she felt lightheaded, out-of-body. She had visions. She saw hands, everywhere hands. When I heard this, tears came to my eyes —what a beautiful vision for Michele, all the people she touched, who touched her. The babies she massaged. The mothers she reached out to. Look at the CFI logo. Look at the logo for Healthy Family Living. Michele ‘handed’ us a new, more compassionate way to see the world. (I’d love to see what she would do with a fundraiser about hands, to follow up on those bellies and chairs.)

I don’t worry about Michele. But I weep for her children, to have lost a mother whose love was so awesome it spilled out beyond them to change the world. I weep so hard for you guys, and for Dan, love of her life, who made it all possible. (There is something wrong with a world in which your grandkids don’t get to experience Michele!) But I don’t worry about Michele. I told her those visions of hands were the hands of everyone supporting her, which she really appreciated, since she was a little creeped out. Of course, since I was such a loyal cancer-denier, I kept my real thoughts to myself: that those were the hands of the ones who’d gone before, reaching back for her. "Come on, Michele! We need you on the other side!"

So Michele, I won't say goodbye. I know you'll be back. There is still work to be done. And I hope to meet you again, in the blink of an eye.