Tag Archives: grass oil blog

Transcendental Frienditation


What happens when you combine a love of featherfish with an artist who makes killa collages with a poem lauding the microwave and a family of five?

You get Transcendental Frienditation, and the gift of this friendship, now spanning between Northern Virginia and a little town in New Mexico has reached new heights.

I adore as you may know, the lovely and talented Lillian Connelly. The poem I wrote last week about the microwave, I wrote on the fly (as I do most of my posts; sadly, this one is sort of planned). While she liked that one enough and we had fun with it, it was the next post, the one about the featherfish that caught her eye; so much, that she fell in love with the featherfish as evidenced by many back and forth tweets on Twitter about them.

Screen Shot 2013-04-30 at 5.53.53 PMScreen Shot 2013-04-30 at 5.54.03 PMScreen Shot 2013-04-30 at 5.54.12 PM

And that’s how we got started. Here is Lillian’s post about her adventure via Twitter and how she and I are collaborating: How My Ideas Grew Two Sizes That Day.

I planned to go all by myself the following Sunday morning to the Eastern Market in D.C. It’s insane to get out of the house with the kids for a planned event; a spontaneous one: fugedaboudit. When I thought I was sneaking down the stairs, I saw my husband on his computer. That was fine. Then I saw Thing 2. Thing 2 likes shopping and going places, so I knew he’d be game. That’s ok. But I really wanted to be there hassle-free: out and about, in the sun, eating a crepe without having to deal with “idonwanna” and “letsdothisinstead” coming from the back seats.

The truth is, I love my team and as much as I wanted to be alone, I really wanted them to see the fantastic experience that lies only 25 minutes away.

My thoughts and plans of leaving at 9:30 in the morning were dashed like a skiff exploding on the rocky bluffs of Ireland when Thing 1 decided he wanted to come too. That meant Thing 3 simply could not stay home alone. Despite his assertions that he would be fine alone for several hours in our house, we made him accompany us. It was on this day that his fever returned and that the amoxicillin he’d recently been prescribed stopped working on his strep throat. He was an absolute pleasure to be around.

But what started out as a solo venture, ended up becoming one of the most fantastic days my family has had together in a long time.

Upon arrival, the first order of business was to stop and get some featherfish for Lillian. Imagine my shock and awe, when we encountered this:

featherfish, featherbears, featherbirds, featherowls, feathergoats, bullfeathers...

featherfish, featherbears, featherbirds, featherowls, feathergoats, bullfeathers…

I simply could not decide. I mean, what if she had a preference for the tortoises or the rams? So I called her, at likely 8am her time on a Sunday (you know, late) and left her a message that she did not listen to until Monday. It’s ok. I chose the fish, and I’m sure she’ll write about them. But in the meantime, she has been working on my homage collage, and I’ll let her show that to you.

So while we were purchasing the featherfish, my husband started talking to FeatherMitch, the maker of the featherthings. And um, let’s just say they got along well. “He is my long-lost brother!” Mitch said, about my husband. “You never know!” he said:

Mr. Grass Oil and FeatherMitch, long lost brothers. Mitch has a zen that makes my own husband's mellow ways seem like my zen, which is to say: no zen.

Mr. Grass Oil and FeatherMitch, long-lost brothers. Mitch has a zen that makes my own husband’s mellow ways seem like my zen, which is to say: no zen. (that little creature in front of Mitch is a featherladybug)

We spent about half an hour with featherMitch and he told us his story. I will sum it up: his grandfather left China during the revolution with nothing. He was not allowed to take his sheep or his money or his food or his clothes with him. He could only take his roll-up mattress and almost no money; China got everything. He wanted to go to Thailand. He met his eventual wife in Thailand, she too was a Chinese refugee. He stayed there and they raised a family, Mitch’s father. He married and Mitch was born. He said that his grandfather wanted to die in China, he wanted to die where he was born, but he wanted all his money to stay in Thailand. The story is a little sketchy and I have a feeling my husband will return many times to iron out the details because he has told me he has a fondness for Mitch (and honestly, who can’t?).

When Mitch was finishing his story, he looked at my oldest son. “What you want to do when you go to college?” he asked. My son stammered a little, kicked a rock, smiled, wasn’t quite ready to answer the question. Mitch had asked it so deliberately. I answered, “He likes engineering, and he loves science and math.”

“You be a doctor. Medical engineer. My daughter, I have two: one is at Columbia, getting her PhD, all she does is call me for money; and the other is at Berkeley. I don’t want them to call me anymore,” he said with no irony. “It’s expensive to live in New York, she calls me for money all the time. I tell her, ‘stop learning, get a job!’ but she’s my daughter. So I send her money.”

“You learn technology, but stay away from Facebook, iPads. Study instead. China wants you to stay on Facebook. All of us, it wants us to be all ‘waaaah waaaah woooaah…’ like zombies on the computers. That’s the only way it will win. Stay away from that. Go outside, exercise, meet people, read science and literature. Artists. Keep doing things, stay away from online talking. China will win and we will all lose,” he said very sharply and lovingly to all my sons.

“I joke with my mom that we should all learn Chinese because we will be speaking it one day when China buys the United States…” Thing 1 said.

“This is no joke.” Mitch said. “Mandarin. You and your children will speak Mandarin if we don’t get away from the iPhones and the Facebook. China loves that we love our phones. They make them and we forget we are alive when we use them.”

He was so correct. My heart sank. Here is a man who knows what China is capable of. We left him for other kiosks, but we planned to say good-bye before we left.

After featherMitch, we went to see a glass artist make pendants and watched his glass blowing demonstration:

Thing 3 was entranced. He and this artist talked so much about the pendant and heat and compared it all to the sun's heat.

Thing 3 was entranced. He and this artist talked so much about the pendant and heat and compared it all to the sun’s heat.

Then after that, we met another artist, Shumba Masani, who makes “canimals”: giraffes and other animals out of aluminum cans. Thing 3 saved his yoo-hoo can for him; he planned to make a turtle out of it. This artist’s works have been in the Smithsonian. He made a 6′ tall giraffe and sold it for $1,000.

This is Masani’s interview on YouTube, he’s amazing and he just sort of stumbled into his art. His lesson is important, so check it out:

I bought this little rhino from him for $20. It’s made from a can of olive oil -infused hairspray:


I suppose $20 is steep, but I’m thrilled because as Thing 3 said, I get to have an original piece of art from an artist whose other works sit in a museum. What I was most thrilled with was that my kids met him and talked to him and saw that all things are possible as long as you try and never give up.

After Masani, I found a second-hand leather backpack purse. Fully lined, “Fossil” brand and it was as soft as butter. At this kiosk, it was originally $35, but that price was scratched out and the new price was $25. I just had $23 on me. “That’ll do.” said the vendor.

“I love that it’s already got scratches on it and that it’s broken in.” I said. “It’s like a car: once you get that first ding in the door, no matter how painful it is, it’s still a car. It’s just less than perfect now. The pressure’s off to keep it pristine. Are you sure? Just twenty-three? Really?”

“Sure. Man, I like your style,” he said. “I wish more people were like you.”

I inspected the bag; it was fine inside: clean, no smells, intact. I love a bargain and I love a broken-in, butter-soft, leather backpack purse even more.

Yesterday, Thing 3 called me from school. He wasn’t feeling well. The amoxicillin had not done its job. We needed to go back to the doctor’s. While we were waiting, I opened my new backpack purse to put away my insurance cards and I looked over and saw this:

It looked like it was talking to me.

It looked like it was talking to me.

So we were having more fun in the exam room and Thing 3 asked me to take this picture:

"It said, 'Gryffindor!' mom, like the sorting hat from Harry Potter, but it's a sorting bag."

“It said, ‘Gryffindor!’ mom, like the sorting hat from Harry Potter, but it’s a sorting bag.”

I have a sorting hat puppet. As far as I’m concerned, you can love Harry and Hermione and Ron and all those people all you want, but when I saw that sorting hat, I was sold. No one else mattered, ‘cept McGonegal. No one messes with Maggie Smith.

Lillian and I are going to embark on more homage collages; or collages with poems and make a calendar of them all for people to buy. It’s all because of the featherfish (that post is about living in the now) and the fact that I was stalled on what to make for dinner one night. The takeaway from all this is that friendship is everywhere and the gift we’ve given to each other is one of new ideas and possibilities for our work; something that will take the writer’s blech for me and give her new things to play with. But the gift she gave to me and my family is permanent and lasting and it’s those little things: taking a leap of faith on a friend and loving what comes of it, that makes it all the richer. So do it: get to know someone and collaborate.

The featherfish were packed up in a box by featherMitch waiting by my front door Monday. Taking them to the post office was also a gift, I stood in line with some of the funniest people and shared stories with them and the very clever man behind the counter. Who knew one set of featherfish could bring me this much joy?

all ready to go to new mexico!

all ready to go to new mexico!

Lillian should get them today. I can’t wait to hear from her when she opens the box. She’s so great. As it turns out, her grandmother lives near me. When she comes to visit her, we are SO going to meet featherMitch. It’ll be a reunion of people who’ve never met.

Thank you.

At this Moment: What Is Thrilling Me


I am thrilled today.

What I’m thrilled about is the fantastic things that happen when people are nice to each other, good, kind and sincerely thankful for their engagement.

Today is the third Fiction Friday. I wrote about Garret today, again, and the boy’s causing some problems. Or has he? The thing that I’m most gratified by in this fiction experience is that we’ve got a bunch of really fantastic writers who’ve all treated these prompts (that I don’t even know about until I roll the dice) with zeal.

I started this fiction thing on a whim bolstered by a comment left by ClearlyKristal. I had written a little fiction because I was bored with everything else. Blogging can be hard; some people do it every day and to them I tip my hat. Sure, I think about stuff to write every day, but I talk myself out of it. I barely have time to read other peoples’ blogs daily let alone write something.  (You can thank me later.)

The gals in this fiction group — they are the real deal. Most of us know each other through the Yesvember post I wrote in November about 100 words that define gratitude. I asked them again in December if they were game to do this for January and to my astonishment, they said yes!

These writers are from all walks of life. Married, divorced, unmarried, single moms, working moms, no kids, former hippie children, people with chronic pain, stay-at-homers, people with troubles and cares in their real worlds. They dedicate the time to put forth some seriously entertaining stuff: From cheating husbands to drunk drivers; from scandalized artists and writers to misguided tree huggers; from doctors who swore to “do no harm” to haphazard serial killers; from teenagers on a tear to wives who are acting out to lovers reunited amid a triangle, we have it all going on in our little fiction family.

I couldn’t be more proud of these women. I don’t personally know any of them, save for one, and yet we’ve all made fast friends: escaping the occasional mundanity of our off-the-grid lives to write about people we create, people we breathe life into and people whose stories are enticing their readers with a slow, come-hither smile while gently whispering, “Escape from your moments for a moment. This is good. Read this; you’ll enjoy it.”

I don’t know how long we will all keep at it. I have heard a couple are surprised by how much they are loving the experience and I’ve heard a couple are looking to get back to their regular shticks. Everyone can stay or go; even come back if they choose for she is part of the original team – the original 10 fearless friday fiction femme fatales.

We have created a writerly sisterhood; one of respect, honor, humor, support, and encouragement. I couldn’t be more thrilled about anything else at this very moment.

Thank you.

Here are the writers:


I Don’t Know What I’ve Done, But Now I am on WordPress

I Don’t Know What I’ve Done, But Now I am on WordPress

Hi reader.

Happy Memorial Day Sunday (are you watching “Jaws”?)!

I’d be lying if I said I truly intended to open this account today.

I was tinkering around and here I am. I am glad I am here, on WordPress, because my blog http://www.grassoil.blogspot.com on blogspot is making me a little nuts. The feeds aren’t going to both of my subscribers (sorry Dad, sorry elementary school homeroom teacher), nor does it allow me to set up “categories” with any ease and People have been saying that WordPress is superior, so I think it’s time I made the switch.

I have but one request: please bear with me while I awaken an area of my brain that was frozen in carbonite with Han Solo. I really don’t know what I’m doing.

What I’d like to do now, is migrate all my stuff from blogspot over to this WordPress blog, and since last Friday afternoon I have seven tabs open in my browser from all manner of sources: YouthTube (like that??), google, wordpress and even typepad:

look at all those tabs! my brain hurts.

I’m a writer not a data wonk and so to say I’m pacing around like a caged tiger would be an understatement; I simply don’t know how to do this. DNS, Masking, unmasking, servers . . .  it all seems so ironically permanent. It reminds me of the time I saw my printed wedding invitations. >gulp!<

I need a drool cup. I’ve become a mouth breather with eyelids at half mast. The BreadWinner just came in and looked at me and said, “Mol, do you need a break?”

I also have apparently set up, via my tinkering (which seems to be the electronic version of doodling in that it is permanent on the “e”paper, so to speak) a really weird WordPress … domain: Mollyfielddotcom.wordpress.com. I TOTALLY didn’t mean to do that. So that’s prolly gonna change. If it has, then The BreadWinner fixed it.

I did just create a new web domain: http://www.mollyfield.com – which is really cool. I don’t know what to do with that. The BreadWinner said to open it because if I’m finally serious about writing, it would be a good idea to have it. Y’know, just in case Knopf wants to publish everything I’ve written: from my notes I leave on the door for my teenage son when I’m out running errands: “NO DANCING GIRLS AND NO FUN OF ANY KIND” to my as-yet completely undercover MOMB (monkey on my back) a tome currently under construction.

The basis of all this is that even though I write a blog, I *HATE* the idea of self-promotion. I need to find my inner Ru Paul, my inner Charo, my inner Dennis Rodman, my inner Madonna Paris Hilton Sofia Vergara, si. But… I’ve done the things that create these opportunities: written, opened a blog, opened a sister page to the blog on facebook, which has a very modest and highly intelligent following (i love you guys and thank you for reading my stuff) and I recently joined Camp NaNoWriMo thanks to the support and encouragement of a wonderful high school friend and his wise wife. So these things are happening (because I started them) whether I like it or not.  Maybe I should get behind the wheel on the bus I’m clearly riding. The only thing I haven’t done yet (and I’m cringing at the thought): Twitter.

So, I guess this is my first post on WordPress which also seems to be my probable final post on blogspot. I just hit 5,588 hits over on the old blog, so this is hard, but I have to remember my personal take on life: that my success means quality not quantity.  I’d like to thank the fates and my incredibly poor comprehension of what the what I did two days ago, but . . . um, I can’t in all good conscience.

The bottom line, FINALLY! If you’re following me on blogspot, please switch over to this blog. I think it’s easy to do: just click on the “follow” button below (Egad I hope it’s there) and enter your blood type, etc., and you’re good to go.

thank you,