Calico Fish Press
In 1993, the Calico Fish Press was founded in the basement of Hillyer Hall at Smith College. It was about 10:30 at night, and I was surrounded by some truly great women, a lot of type, and a lots of ink. I had to come up with a name for the press so I could set it and run the title pages for the book I was producing on those lovely big printing presses. I went for years without a press and so - as a result - the Calico Fish Press produced only digital ephemera for years. A few years ago, I got a fantastic deal on a little Kelsey Exclesior, a lot of type, and all sorts of goodies from a hobbyist's type shop. I drove 5 hours to pick up that press, and another five to come home, giddy. I've bought and sold a few other small Kelseys in that time, and I've also made myself a bottle jack press for small bits of ephemera.
Some women went abroad for their junior year; I spent mine in Capen Annex. I didn't intend to spend both my junior and senior years as editor of the college paper, but there I was, learning all sorts of life lessons. Here are a few:
- Always leave the project better than when you found it.
- It is really easy to make a mistake; proofreaders are worth their weight in gold.
- Making a mistake is not the end of the world.
- A good solid apology is always the way to go.
- Journalism was so not for me.
Home for two years, while I attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Carrboro was such an interesting place to live - a liberal oasis in the midst of a state who can rightfully claim they make the best BBQ in the country. (Oh, come at me. I'm not saying your BBQ is terrible, I'm just saying it is not as good as NC BBQ.) I spent a lot of time on the J and C buses, sharking for parking (a term I coined that totally failed to catch on) at the university, and working increasing amounts of time in Research Triangle Park.
Ours is a cat family, despite the fact that all my male Morbeck cousins married dog women. There is no greater honor than being inducted into the Morbeck Cat Hall of Fame. You can tell this by the politicking and bribing and trash-talking that goes on. Cats make everything better, except when they are peeing in your luggage, puking on the floor, or using you as a launching pad. I digress. The cats of my childhood - Hop on Pop (also known as Gucko), Sir Thomas Tuddenham (named in honor of one my ancestor's pals who got beheaded pretty much because of said ancestor), and Maximillian (overly fluffy grey cat) were succeeded by the legendary Griselda who lived to be 21. A better cat this family has never seen. Currently, I live with three cats - Munson and Fancy Pants (who used to live with my brother and sister-in-law before they moved to an island idyll) and the estimable Hedy, who was totally named in honor of Hedy Lamar.
Sometimes, you come across a piece of art that pings something deep within you. So much of Cezanne's work - more than any other artist - rings that bell for me. I respond deeply to his palette, his brushstrokes, his composition, how he builds the image. It makes sense to me, it inspires me, it is so often relevatory. There are other artists whom I adore, whose work delights me, whose abilities astound, but Cezanne has an unique effect on me. I tried to capture that (however superficially) in my younger days with Connecting with Cezanne
What I really like about Charlotte is that there's a fountain on every block uptown in almost every possible configuration. It's just so nice to walk out on a Spring evening and hear the sounds of water. It was one of the few perks of the Project from Hell. Of course, the gerbil tubes that connect the northern part of downtown give it that cool and scary future-world sense of existing. And on the rare occasion of icing, it's delightful to not have to go outside. But really: the best thing about Charlotte are the people who live nearby.
I grew up outside of Charlottesville (see below), worked at UVA during vacations and after school. Between college and graduate school, I found the web, became involved in the initial efforts to wire Charlottesville, and began Charlottesville On-Line as a temporary stop-gap before the Monticello Avenue Virtual Village was founded. I ended up moving back to the area a few years ago. So if you think you've seen me skulking around town ... yep, that was probably me. When I was a teenager, we'd always head into Charlottesville for our entertainment (we had amazing parking karma at the late, lamented Vinegar Hill. We did not appreciate it enough); as an adult, most of my entertainment and social life happens outside town -- or over the mountain.
If I had to choose one kind of food to eat for the rest of my life, I'm pretty sure I'd choose cheese.
I like Central Standard Time, and I loved the decorated cows. The fact I can get bratwurst in four different places one block from my former firm's offices was pretty impressive for a girl who grew up in Virginia; the fact that two of those offered 10 different sausage ilks was positively transporting. What really sealed my affection for the city was the palpable small-city sense in very big city (except for the police station, which was strangely deserted for something so very big-city)
A Christmas Story
The best christmas movie. Ever. I've loved Jean Shepard ever since I was very small and visiting my grandparents; I could hear his voice booming out from my grandfather's radio as they slept; later, I'd spin the dial looking for him to pop up on whatever NYC radio station was temporarily employing him. Shep was a master storyteller who'd suck you in with his style and stories and his point of view. There's a wealth of his recordings online and in podcast form; his semi-autobiographical writings are wonderful.
I've never been much of one for beer, so it's a good thing I live in an area in the midst of a cider renaissance. I have standards. First of all, the country cider should not be pasteurized. It kills the living goodness, reduces the depth of flavor, and adds a distinct symphony of blandness. As for the hard cider ... a good, crisp, gorgeous, well-made cider will ruin you for any of those national mass-produced brands. Trust me.
Colophon and Copyright
The hows and wherefores of the site, the exquisite details of ownership, and a bit of history. Plus I harp on the fact that it's mine, mine, mine.
A Confluence of Birds
I was driving home one day, and I saw something beautiful in the sky above me. So I wrote about it.
The small town outside of which I grew up - the home of my local library, the best pizza in central Virginia, and featuring so many of the perks of small town life. It was a great place to grow up - we didn't need stoplights, we didn't have a movie theater (it closed down fifty-odd years ago), but we were surrounded by farms and orchards. It was declared a growth area about a decade ago, and the small town is being inflated into a town 4 times as big as the one of my childhood. On the plus side: the locally owned businesses can survive, and there has been a vast improvement in the number of dining establishments, but most importantly, the BOS could no longer ignore the fact we desperately needed to build a bigger branch library. (It's glorious!)
My favorite childhood book. I even had a Curious George doll; you could pull his string and a scratchy voice would say "I want to play!" and "Will you be my friend?" Like most children, I thrilled to George's adventures and mischevious ways. The books shaped my world view. Now that I'm an adult, I have learned that the books are the primo gift for kids around the age of three. I gave it to my little cousin for Christmas in 1997, and he literally abandoned the other toys, climbed up and over his father so he could have his face as close to the book as possible.
Words I particularly like: