Hudson is very, very quiet; especially compared to New York. The silence made it easy to stop and notice the details.

Hudson has a full range of holiday decorations – from tasteful white lights to a Happy Birthday Jesus installation, complete with rosary-hung plastic pine tree. All tastes are catered to.

We’ve skipped town; on Wednesday we hired a car and drove upriver for a few days. A break and a deep breath.

On our way out of New York we stopped at the Bronx Zoo since neither of us had ever been. I’m ambivalent about zoos, and wasn’t sure if it would be inspiring or upsetting. It turned out to be mostly inspiring.

My favorite parts were the Mouse House…

and the reindeer bottoms.

I’ve been thinking about the Day of the Dead; maybe it’s all the leaves fallen from the trees. I’ve never seen the celebrations but I love the sugar skulls and brightly painted skeletons.

In France the day is La Toussaint, All Saint’s Day. When we were in the Pyrenees this Spring we stayed in a house that backed up to the village cemetery. I took pictures of the grave markers, many of which were metal. There was a pile of them stacked against a wall; their “Eternal Regrets” long outlived.

Sad and beautiful.

We had snow yesterday, making for a cozy day of making earrings, sewing in the studio, old movies, and hot tea to stay warm in between bursts of rattling heat in the old radiators.

M was busy with all things computer in the office. We visited each other to deliver peppermint patties and progress reports, and yelled companionably between rooms.

Today the snow has disappeared; just another damp city Monday.

I made these earrings a few weeks ago to go with the squares necklaces. For this pair I used my favorite batch of silvery gold pearls, but I’ve also made them in white and steely-silver pearls. I’ve been wearing them a lot; they’re easy, and so light that I forget they’re on until the drops brush my cheek.

I walked by this building a lot before noticing the intricate tiles above the main windows.

Somehow they manage to be bold and subtle at the same time, and remind me of this page from the 1989 Quilt Engagement Calendar, which I kept.

The quilt is called Late Fall, by Junko Okuyama based on the Broken Dishes pattern. I just googled the artist and found that Wee Wonderfuls blogged this same quilt 3 years ago. We should start a fan club.

Despite all that warring for independence, we Brits are still here. Oh well. Enjoy the ride.

This is my 100th post! Whodathunkit.

The insane holiday baking frenzy that always grips me has arrived. First in line – biscotti to send as a gift.

Phase one baking: biscotti loaves. The recipe is from baker extraordinaire Wendy, these here with dried cherries and semi-sweet chocolate.

Phase two. Enough to feed the masses. Or one giant brother.

I was looking at friend Kevin’s Flickr pics and saw these:

Photos of Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth at the Tate Modern in London. I love the pictures, and after reading a little about the piece I love the sculpture even more.

Salcedo is addressing a long legacy of racism and colonialism that underlies the modern world. A ‘shibboleth’ is a custom, phrase or use of language that acts as a test of belonging to a particular social group or class. By definition, it is used to exclude those deemed unsuitable to join this group.

‘The history of racism’, Salcedo writes, ‘runs parallel to the history of modernity, and is its untold dark side’. For hundreds of years, Western ideas of progress and prosperity have been underpinned by colonial exploitation and the withdrawal of basic rights from others. Our own time, Salcedo is keen to remind us, remains defined by the existence of a huge socially excluded underclass, in Western as well as post-colonial societies.

In breaking open the floor of the museum, Salcedo is exposing a fracture in modernity itself. Her work encourages us to confront uncomfortable truths about our history and about ourselves with absolute candidness, and without self-deception.

Living in Crown Heights (a neighborhood synonymous nationwide with race riots) makes me extra hungry for anything that speaks to the presence of racism in our world. Being part of a tiny white minority, feeling the weight of my skin and privilege and education, trying not to impose, trying to connect… feels very much like trying to avoid giant cracks in the sidewalk.