Oakland has hit its Indian Summer stride with early morning powder blue skies and all day sunshine making way into effortless, balmy nights. Neither my daughter nor I could sleep last night and she ended up in my bed. By midnight I was still tossing and turning, throwing off the quilt, moving her long legs to the left or to the right, fluffing my pillow to get comfortable. You’d think this once normal bed time routine would end when your kids become teenagers, but not so. Regardless of the cross eyed looks I can get on any given day, my bed still seems to offer some comfort. Is it the new sheets I wonder? The coolness of my alcove room tucked in the back of our flat? Perhaps it is the Okeefesque pink flower painting on the wall, or simply the fact that it isn’t her room at all and for that reason alone it is better. And so life goes on, continues it’s switch and bait tactic, moving, swirling and growing whether I know it or not.

Meanwhile, the Bay area is teeming with late summer activities, art showings and events, and this week alone I saw the Squeak Carnwath retrospective at the Oakland Museum (I studied her work–an alchemy of lines, language, symbols, and thick paint–when in school), followed the next day by O’Keefe and Ansel Adams: Natural Affinities exhibit at the SFMOMA, along with amazing photos by Richard Avedon and the now closed showing of work by Robert Frank, whose 1958 book The Americans is said to have changed the coarse of 20th century photography. Let’s say it was powerful. I also saw Rosana Castrillo Diaz’ exquisite white on white piece on the bridge wall leading to the new sculpture garden. Rosana was a fellow art student at Mills College and we once worked together on a poetry book project. I feel juiced: after months of inactivity around art making, I spent an afternoon making a small collage piece for a friend’s birthday.

At home yesterday, I made 6 jars of plum rhubarb jam. It is bright and delicious, just the right balance of sweet and tart, and will be welcome come January when it is cold and gray and I’m dreaming of land and other days. And yes I’ll post a recipe soon-the least active of my links here and something I am meaning to correct, along with posting pictures. But before I do, I’m heading down to the Eat Real Festival, a semi co-opting of last year’s Slow Food Festival but evidently in real terms for real people: meaning under $5 for street food, free films, a canning exchange and no event fees. They ask that you ride your bike, and I would if mine wasn’t needing a mend.

As part of the festivities, tomorrow I’ll spend the afternoon at Novella Carpenter’s farm. I wrote about her a while back. She’s the former UC Berkeley journalism student who took over an empty lot in the blighted part of Oakland and started a farm, complete with chickens, goats, a pig and lots of vegetables. In her spare time, she wrote a book about it. Alas, I’m going to join the hundreds that will be swooning around her digs for an open show and tell, chicken slaughter, afternoon hang out, and evening BBQ: “Bring something from your homestead to share,” she writes, and I will. You’ve gotta love it here in Oakland, and this week I do.