The sound of one of Zimoun’s installations is the multitude of many identical noises: often, the buzz, beating, or swiveling of hundreds of the same small motors running simultaneously. The sound could be likened to pattering raindrops, clicking typewriters, droning honeybees, or the vibration of a hundred air conditioning units in a condo community. It is a musical sum of an everyday happening. Although Zimoun might refer to his installations as “static sound architectures and spaces” and tell you that “What you hear is what you get”; the acoustic experience of entering “Wall of Sound” at UCI’s Beall Center for Art + Technology might be less like entering a building and more like entering a living bee hive; such is the collective energy generated by so many moving simple machines. Like the cloned sisters in a hive each making an individual buzz, dancing a unique waggle, and adding in her small way to the hum of the larger swarm mind, the 400+ cardboard boxes stacked throughout the gallery space, each with a small dc motor swinging a cotton ball drumming against the surface of it, creates the insistent sensation of entering something organic, albeit mechanized.
Swiss-born artist, Zimoun, is fond of repetition and he has a history of reiterating large grids of simple objects. Like a favorite quilt square, he has made a number of installations that involve cardboard boxes; for instance, in 2010, he created a spacious room with 111 large open boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. The boxes created a grid that was stark and clean; and each box housed a single frenetic jumping wire that was turned by a hidden motor. This immersive installation (all the installations are named simply by the listing of materials used) presented the opportunity to oscillate between experiencing one and all; between non-living and living; and between control and spontaneity. The boxes evoke cells and the wires evoke highly magnified cilia; but strangely, there is no distance in the magnification, because as each wire hits its own cardboard surface with every twist and turn, a unified orchestra of musical pattering results. The making of sound is observable and transparent, but somehow the comprehension of the total is elusive. Each box or cell is made with the assembled with the same components – mass-manufactured by a team of assistants or volunteers – but each wire wriggles according to the minute differences in length, density, and human error. All the wires wriggling at the same time creates the feeling of a mass that somehow approaches an organism. Does that mean that enough mechanized movement can approach the quality of life?
An earlier work such as 25 woodworms, wood microphone, sound system (2009) does explicit homage to the sounds of life or the sound of nature, and is the flat-out amplified noise of live woodworms chewing a hunk of rotting wood. Recent work continues to make extensive use of cardboard and other basic industrial materials and massive repetition, but explores even more deeply aleatoric, or chance-controlled sound. The level of deliberate control and rigor is counter-balanced by the inevitable (de)generation of the overall sound, although Zimoun is clear that he is “not using chance to discover unexpected results, but to elevate the works to a higher level of vitality.” “Wall of Sound” appears to be less structured than past works, as there is no room or substantive wall constructed; instead, uneven stacks of percussive boxes sprawl apparently haphazardly throughout the gallery space like a maze with no perceptible grid. Indeed, the reference to a “wall of sound” is pointedly directed at Phil Spector who is famous for his early 60’s sound production technique of layering multiple guitarists playing the same parts to create a density in the background music. Here, the gallery space itself becomes the instrument, and as the viewer moves through the space, “the wall” of sound will change and shift.
The commissioned “Wall of Sound” is a coup for curator David Familian, as Zimoun has exhibited infrequently in the US, and even more rarely in California. The installation is the crowning finale in the gallery’s year-long dedication to sound art, a notoriously difficult and under-represented art form. As Cage famously said, “music… is not an attempt to bring order out of chaos…but simply a way of waking up to the very life we’re living.”
Every year at Not-Back-To-School Camp, I make time with my advisees to write a letter to our future selves – to be mailed by camp six months down the road. It’s a way of carrying those special weeks forward.
I got my letter today:
“Last day of Camp
Myrtlewood, Sept 2013
Third year of camp over the span of 12 years and I can really feel the difference of coming more deeply into myself. I’m not so worried what people think and more able to be receptive and connect.
I loved that Chad and Christian got to be here this year. Chad and I started the session rushed and irritable and now feel loving and relaxed. Taking the time and space to take care of myself: Downtime, morning time to regroup for the day, time outside, exercise, really helped to make me grounded and clear-eyed versus emotional and snippy.
I would have loved to have given more physical attention and cuddling to the campers, but it’s harder to do with teenagers. Enjoy those Forest Kinder kids. So cuddly.
C loves it here, especially the creek. I love being here – the location, perhaps even more than the reason.
This is the year to work on Chad’s book. DO IT. Personal stuff is important.
Lots of sleep
Raven cawing overhead.
Yellow frog in hand
Enormous myrtle marked
Art conversations with Tilke
Girl time with Abbi
Baking with Rosa
Good people. Keep carving out space for myself. SIMPLIFY. DO LESS. DO MORE. HAVE LESS TO TAKE CARE OF.
Kale salad is something I always like to pick up already prepared at Mothers or Whole Foods, but it seems simple enough, so I finally dared to try my own – on Christmas Day no less.
It turned out fine!
The trick to make it palatable is to cook the kale a bit. This can be done on the stove or in the microwave.
I took three bunches of washed organic curly kale and de-stemmed them and tore the leaves into bite-sized pieces in a big glass mixing bowl. Then I added a 1/2 cup of water, covered the bowl with a paper plate, and nuked the whole thing for 6 minutes. I was surprised to find that the kale was barely wilted, but it was enough.
I made a simple honey mustard vinaigrette in the dijon mustard jar with the last couple tablespoons of dijon (trader’s joe’s): Mustard, honey, olive oil, basalmic vinegar, salt, and fresh cracked pepper – all shaken thoroughly. Add to the kale salad and massage in well. I use tongs for this, but tongs with a round flat end that really squeezes the kale well. Hands would work.
I tasted it and it wasn’t enough, so I made a second round of the same honey mustard vinaigrette and I also added some dressing we’d brought home from a restaurant. More salt and pepper to taste.
Then I started to add extra stuff I like: dried cranberries and coarsely chopped pecans.
I tasted again. It was starting to taste good but not enough bite, so I very finely diced half a red onion.
Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller have long crafted space, whether physically manifest with plywood and façade or immaterially delineated by recorded audio; and that space is often a surreal or dreamlike place reminiscent of an empty de Chirico piazza with the sound of children’s laughter echoing in the distance. Cardiff first gained attention with her audio walks in the 90’s, where the viewer put on headphones and ostensibly was guided along a path, but the “tour” was complicated by overlaid audio tracks – snippets of intimate dialogue and ambient noise – and the shivery result was the feeling that the viewer had just slipped into somebody else’s skin and intrigue for a few brief minutes. Miller’s solo practice included more electronics, robotics, and surveillance in both a futuristic and nostalgic sense. Together, Cardiff and Miller are deft manipulators of perception and makers of immersive environments. They have created an impressive oeuvre that is ripe for a more complete retrospective. In the meantime, the exhibition, Lost in the Memory Palace, is a purposeful and concise selection of “room works” spanning 18 years of collaboration that provides a chronology of a diverse range of shapes of space.
Although The Paradise Institute, 2001 and Forty Part Motet, 2001 are notably absent, viewers will discover that this show is greater than the sum of its parts and is, in fact, deliberately curated to be an experiential installation as a whole. The Museum of Contemporary Art La Jolla has been transformed into a maze of sound corridors and isolated rooms, each containing a single work: a labyrinth intended to provoke wandering and perhaps, a little disorientation. The title of the show aptly references a “memory palace”, a mnemonic device in which a person creates a place or series of places in his mind where he can store information that needs to be remembered. This exhibition can be explored as a tangible memory palace and every encounter with a meticulously scripted installation is sure to trigger some kind of transmogrified awareness.
The earliest work, The Dark Pool (1995), is nearly a memory palace in and of itself and clearly speaks to the obsessive art mind: a cluttered room carpeted with flattened cardboard and made claustrophobic by makeshift desks on sawhorses covered with stacks of books and dirty tea cups (science experiments?) The viewer’s motions inside the room activate fragments of music, noise, and a story that never quite coalesces. The room as a physical object contains the viewer, but the disjointed and unexpected audio combined with the sheer quantity of detail of fictional pseudo-scientific memorabilia, is what allows the room to shift place in time and become something of a dream-like experience.
On the other hand, The Killing Machine (2007) is an open-walled installation that cannot be entered by the viewer; however, the viewer is directed to push a button, which then activates what appears to be a torture chamber. Implicated by the start button, the viewer cannot then stop the two large robotic arms that begin a choreographed interpretive “dance” over the empty reclining doctor’s chair; first hovering, then jabbing, then drilling. Although the impulse of this piece may have been Abu Ghraib, the theatricality of the piece operates more as a sci-fi than an indictment of the spectacle of war; and frankly, as such, probably has more access to shifting the viewer’s perception of reality. The sequence of clinical horror is muted by the sense that the enlivened machinery is re-acting a dream sequence. It’s no surprise, and a real bonus that the YouTube video of the installation is as spine-chilling than the real-life experience of the installation. In an era where worth can be defined by number of hits, this piece lives on and lives well, beyond the museum.
Of the six installations (sadly, there was not enough room for Storm Room, 2009), only The Muriel Lake Incident (1999) utilizes binaural technology, a method of recording that produces an astonishing fidelity by using microphones in the ears of a dummy head. The viewer stands in front of a diorama of a theater (perfectly to scale) and puts on headphones while watching a video projection on the screen in the miniature cinema. The recorded ambient sounds of a large theater cunningly layered on top of the soundtrack for the “film” is so life-like that it will likely cause unease as the invisible neighbor leans in close and whispers in the viewer’s ear. Via the audio, the viewer is propelled into the miniaturized space and locked in engagement. Here, as Bartomeu Mari has described it, is an “audio event akin to sculpture”; and the space is not so much the plywood box on legs containing the theater as the sonic reality projected into the viewer’s mind. A precursor to the award-winning The Paradise Institute (2001) which was originally produced for the Canadian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, Cardiff and Miller continue to mine this rich vein of fabricating an immersive space to house an experience.
These six discrete installations will make you want more – and luckily for transcontinental types, The Forty Part Motet (2001), a binaural recording of 40 a capella singers performing the 1573 “Spem in Alium” by Thomas Talis is at the Met until December 8, 2013.
Link to the online article here.
Two nights ago, I noticed Christian had something in his mouth. It was something thin, like a coin, and he was holding it casually between his back teeth and his cheek.
I wouldn’t have barked at him to spit it out, but he was lying on his back, for pete’s sake.
He immediately tried to get up and comply, but you know how you have to open your mouth a little wider to move something around? I saw him do just that, and gag just a bit.
When he was standing, I put my hand in front of him, “Spit it out.”
He shrugged. And opened his mouth wide.
“What happened to that penny in your mouth?” I screeched.
He shrugged again and pointed to his throat.
This was followed by frantic googling of what to do when your kid swallows a coin. Chad went a bit berserko.
Apparently pennies made before 1982 (?) could contain corrosive metals and are very dangerous to ingest. Could it be a dime? Chad had just handed C a handful of coins with both dimes and pennies.
ER? We paced and googled five minutes more.
URGENT CARE! I remembered from my days leading bike tours that urgent care was a great place to bring injured or hurt kids for dramatically less than emergency rooms. The closest urgent care was closing in 15 minutes – We began grabbing clothes, purses, books, and knitting. C was quiet through all this, but when he heard we were going to see a doctor, he began screaming and holding onto furniture. We got him to the car with a lot of sweet talk and cajoling. But we’d lost time while prying his fingers off the door frame.
It was 7:01 when we arrived at the firmly locked and definitely closed doors of the urgent care facility that was supposed to be open until 7 pm. Granted, this was July 3, and I couldn’t blame anyone for cutting out early the day before the July 4th.
Deflated, we sat down on the curb and I began doing what I should have done to begin with, which was CALL DR. BOB SEARS. Dr. Bob is our trusted pediatrician.
His answering service message asked all callers to please check with www.AskDrSears.com before paging the doctor.
I knew this was the right thing to do. In fact, I’ve said it myself a hundred times, “Have you checked www.askdrsears.com?”
Reading about swallowed objects on askdrsears.com was tremendously reassuring. Basically, anything small enough to be swallowed and reach the stomach is small enough to come out in the poop. It is recommended to check the poop for at least a week, or until the object come out. There was no mention of toxic pennies, only the incredible anecdote of an open safety pin passing through a child without any discomfort or discernable harm.
So, for the last two days Christian has been very reluctantly pooping on a plastic potty. And I have been very reluctantly going through aforementioned poop with gloved fingers. GROSS. And VERY SMELLY.
I was rewarded with a poopy dime this morning. Unbelievable.
It was scrubbed and disinfected and photographed for posterity.
Christian swear he will never put another coin in his mouth.
I’m putting it on my list of things-I-never-had-to-do-with-Bella.
You are FIVE now. You have had a very busy year. Three days of Earthroots a week has made you strong and healthy. I have to work pretty hard to keep up with you.
You appreciate Kyla’s friendship and the two of you often hang out during class. The two of you together make doing anything fun – and the other kids want to join in.
Those red shoes you are wearing were your signature piece of clothing this year. We got them new and you named them Iron Man Shoes. They are now filled with holes and scuffed and stinky beyond repair.
We fit two Joshua Tree camping trips in this year. Camping remains one of your favorite things to do. That yellow sweatshirt is another signature piece of clothing. You got it from Nu two years ago. Thanks, Nu!
You were barefoot most of the time. Sometimes we would get home after class and I would realize that you had never put on your shoes once. I say that Evan was your inspiration for going barefoot but you say it’s because you can grip the earth better. Makes sense.
I know you think that Forest Kindergarten would be better if you could bring your toys with you, but I have to say IT LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE HAVING A PRETTY GOOD TIME.
I love you.
I look forward to even more adventures this coming year.
The stage was very simple with a single wooden workstand, a wooden crate, a mike, and a red fabric background. One guy ambled onto stage and began to tell a story by singing a story of the sea. Then he was bending his leather belt rolled in a tight coil to record a creaking sound and then he blew into the microphone
and magically, the sounds looped and became the rhythmic creaking of a boat out at sea. Nic was joined by Jof and they swayed back and forth on their boat. I was captivated as was the seven children with me.
They proceeded to tell the story of Jof’s life from birth (wherein a gull appears, made of knotted rope)
And how the boat split in half (dramatically re-enacted with a boat carved out of a loaf of french bread) which led to a land-based life with the circus. There Jof met his one true love before running off to his other love, the sea. A wise Japanese fisherman tells him to find her before its too late, and Jof does, but he does not stay.
With puppetry wonders (fabric slung over Nick’s knee and calf becomes her swaying skirt, his forearm her body and his fist covered with a bonnet and blond braids, bobbed convincingly as Jof’s one true love); simple circus acrobatics; and a lovely narrative about the windy path of love and life and death, the audience never stopped believing for one single instant.
This one-hour production intended for children may well be the most ingenious and creative acts of story-telling that I have ever encountered. It was Boats by the Terrapin Puppet Theatre from Tasmania of all places. I was lucky to see it at the Segerstrom last Friday.
P.S. Here is a video clip from the Terrapin Puppet Theater website. I wasn’t surprised to discover that this show is an award-winner. Lots more clips of their other productions.
P.S.S. I saw this show for $6. The Segerstrom offers special school group field trip rates for a series of family shows every year. The catch is that you have to organize and pay for the tickets waaay back in August and September in order to get seats. Interestingly, this was the best show so far, but least attended. Sadly, a gap between the show’s unique ingenuity and effective promotion.
Nothing like holding a sleeping 4-day old babe in a sling while writing about her birth. Especially as I am not the one recovering from the labor.
Nothing like sitting and typing while my 4-day old niece is peacefully nursing her mama in the next room.
When Christian and I arrived in DC ten days ago (Feb 8), Olga was anxious for their baby to be born by her due date Feb 13. First, she hoped the baby would be born while I was still here (me too!); and secondly, she wanted to meet their new daughter. However, Olga was showing no signs of impending labor; her cervix was firmly closed and not even a Braxton Hicks contraction had been felt.
This worked out for Christian and I, though, because we spent a very full and fun week exploring DC with Olga who wanted to walk as much as possible once she heard that exercise might stimulate labor.
On the morning of her due date, Feb 13, Olga saw her mucous plug and had very light contractions. After lots of discussion, Songbae went to work. Olga, Christian, and I drove to Virginia to have lunch at my parents’ club (yummy: calamari, fresh tuna wraps, caesar salad with grilled salmon, steamed mussels). We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling in a nearby park trying to bring on more contractions. We were sure the baby was going to come any time! And that evening, well, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one staring at the ceiling all night long…
We woke up the next day and still no baby. Olga went in for her weekly check-in with her OB. Everybody was delighted to hear that she was two centimeters dilated. Seriously, it was practically a party in this house, but the doctor cautioned that 2 cm could mean labor in a day or labor in a week. The doc was unmoved by the bloody show nor was she impressed by the light contractions.
Olga, Christian, and I walked all over Oak Hill Cemetery (beautiful) and Dumbarton Oaks Park (wooded).
After we got home we then hoofed it to the Target 15 blocks away. We did end up taking the bus home though, at Christian’s moaning about being tired.
By evening there were more contractions, but still irregular and light. We decided not to talk to say the c-word (contraction) anymore. We were definitely jinxing ourselves. We determined to eat a good meal (we did) and get a good night’s sleep (we did not).
Somewhere in the wee hours, Songbae woke me up. Olga was having contractions every 5 minutes and they thought it might be time to go to the hospital. Olga appeared calm, which was a warning signal to me that it was probably still early labor, but they both assured me that Olga had a very high threshold for pain. Another clue, in retrospect, was that before we left the house, the doctor on call asked to speak directly to Olga and calmly asked how he might help her. When she engaged in conversation with him, he agreeably said she could certainly come to the hospital to see if she was really in labor or not. At that time, Songbae and Olga could only shake their heads in disbelief. I mean, is there anything to be believed about labor for the first time? At 3 am we packed everybody up, including Christian, and headed to Sibley Hospital.
Upon arrival, Songbae and Olga were stunned to find that she was still only 2 cm dilated, the same as she had been that very morning – and after so much laboring! It was disappointing. Our nurse was sweet and optimistic though and gently broke the news that she thought we should go back home.
More stunned disbelief from Songbae and Olga, but I was secretly relieved. The longer Olga was at home, the more she would have the freedom to move around untethered to monitors and the longer she would have to snack and drink for the energy she would surely require. The hospital only allowed clear fluids and later when Olga considered a possible epidural, not even fluids were allowed, but only ice chips. In the end, Songbae and Olga were glad for the time at home as well.
We stayed a couple more hours, but after we were told dilation was still at 2 cm, we packed up laboring Olga and a perky and alert Christian and drove back home around 6 am. This next part of the story is unclear to me, because as soon as I got home, Christian and I tumbled into bed and passed out until 10 am. Umph. We were spent and labor was just beginning!
Olga did not get so much sleep. She’d rested and bathed and labored and moaned and
when I woke up she was moaning quite loudly,
Things like, GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT AWAY I CANT TAKE THIS ANYMORE.
Which, if you’ve ever had a baby, you know is a typical thing to say, especially when you are in transition.
Please note: Olga was a super woman and labored beautifully (all the nurses said so too) and delivered Alina without any medication whatsoever.
We accommodated Olga, but we did it slowly, because we both knew that if she had not dilated amply when we reached the hospital that we were going to have a very unhappy laboring woman on our hands. She was already not in a good mood about the level of pain she was experiencing which was much much more than she had anticipated. Again, I heard her complaints as good news. It is common for women in transition to feel like the contractions are unbearable. Her contractions were between 3-7 minutes apart, but they were lasting longer and were clearly much more painful. I applied pressure on her lower back during contractions and she said it helped. Damp washcloths did not.
When we got to the hospital, Olga went straight in, but I stayed in the waiting area, because for whatever reason, this time Christian was denied entrance to the Delivery Wing. Songbae was upset about this as he’d previously confirmed that is was patient discretion that determined who was in the the room. In fact, he ran right back out and told me to go in with Olga while he sat with Christian. (He says now that he and Olga discussed this and both agreed that I might be more helpful to the laboring mom.)
Olga was now 6 cm dilated! I was thrilled! Olga was not. She wanted an epidural. Blood was drawn, she was put on an IV and baby monitor and blood pressure cuff, juice was withdrawn, and many scary questions were asked about blood transfusions and reactions to anesthesia.
We were informed that the blood work could take up to two hours to return.
So Olga and I talked it through – between contractions, of course. She wanted a natural drug-free birth; she did not want any medical interventions. We’d discussed this in advance. I was there to remind her of that. And could she see how much more medicalized the labor had become just at the mention of an epidural? She was doing so amazingly well too. Then I got a timely text which bolstered me and which I showed to Olga:
“6 cm is the beginning of transition. ALL WOMEN SAY THEY WANT AN EPIDURAL AT THAT STAGE!!!”
She agreed to see how much she’d dilated before making a decision.
We were left alone for a long time. Fortunately for us (but unfortunately for somebody else) there was a medical emergency in the delivery wing and we were left alone. Olga’s blood samples were left rolling on a tray in our room. We just kept on trucking through contraction by contraction and before we knew it two hours had passed. After 2 pm, Olga had her first visit from a doctor. She was 8 cm. She was progressing completely ON TRACK. (It is typical to progress one cm per hour after you reach the first five centimeters.) The doctor assured Olga that she could have the epidural whenever she wanted. Olga decided to wait another half hour.
At this point, we did everything in half hour increments. An entire hour was too long to imagine.
Take a moment and open your mouth as wide as you can. Measure it in centimeters. You are probably near 6-7 cm across. So imagine a uterus contracting enough to stretch its cervical opening to 10 cm – for the first time ever. It is a miracle of childbirth that our organs change shape and our bones shift to allow passage of a new human. AND SO MUCH WORK.
Olga and I imagined beautiful wooded places, we floated in seas, we told stories, we thought of mothers around the world and through history, we massaged, we cried, and we sweated. We were delirious, obviously she much more than I. (Although, I did realize at some point that afternoon that I had not eaten since the previous night.)
Around this time, Songbae was able to come into the room with us. My parents had arrived with provisions and Legos. Christian was with them – but after already four hours in the waiting room, I knew he might not be easy to handle. When we got the inevitable text that one of us needed to come out, I tried to go, but Songbae thought I stay, in case Christian wouldn’t let me leave him again and Songbae went out again.
Olga, meanwhile, was having contractions hard and heavy. We got her up and standing and moving around. The contractions were less painful and shorter when she was up and leaning forwards supported by the raised hospital bed. She hated all the tubes hanging from her, but there was nothing to do. She labored on. Soon she had an urge to push. The nurse came in and Olga told her so. The nurse looked at her calmly and said, You said that to me so nicely…I am going to wait until you yell that at me. And then turned and left. She did it in a nice way. It was funny also, but nobody had time to laugh. Finally Olga’s water broke. There began to be messes to be cleaned up with every contractions.
Olga began yelling that her uterus was pushing on its own. We called the nurse. The doctor came in. And thank God, a head was visible on its way down. I yelled, Olga, It’s almost over! Baby is on her way!
To which the doctor muttered out of the side of her mouth, She still has quite a bit pushing to go. Baby is not here yet.
I ran out to tell Songbae to come in and take over so he could witness the birth. My parents were down in the cafeteria and Songbae was helping Christian build his new Lego set. Songbae looked up and said mildly, Okay, I’ll come in as soon as Mom and Dad come back.
I sprinted back to Olga. Every contraction showed us more and more of the baby’s head. IT WAS SO EXHILARATING. Olga was working SO HARD. The whole thing was surreal. I just held my breath and waited for Songbae to relieve me. I knew I wasn’t going to see the actual birth and I wanted to absorb every minute detail. Olga had her legs back and she pushed against me with one foot. She pushed against a nurse with the other. She pushed until her face turned purple. She was having alternating big and small contractions and she used the little ones to rest.
Then suddenly the head was fully crowning and with big exhale
baby slipped slithered out pink and beautiful.
I took off to get Songbae. I was astonished at what I’d witnessed in place of him. SORRY SONGBAE!! WHERE THE HECK WERE YOU??!
When I got to the lobby Songbae was calmly putting away Legos. With the memory of that morning’s first trip to the hospital still in his mind, he’d thought he had plenty of time. Mom and Dad were sitting and drinking coffee. I surely yelled something incomprehensible. Songbae took off.
Placenta delivered without incident.
There was meconium in the amniotic fluid (baby pooped before leaving womb), so the neonatologist scooped baby up and suctioned out her lungs. This happens often and while it can pose a threat, it was quickly and efficiently handled.
Alina Nari Lee was born in the afternoon of February 15, 2013 in the year of the snake. 6 pounds 15 ounces. A beauty.
Did I mention that her mom was a champ? OLGA IS A CHAMP!!
Where did that name come from?!
That’s the $1,000,000 question in the house – here and in Kyrgyzstan, Olga’s mother country. In both countries, it was widely circulated that the new baby was named Katherine. Let’s just be clear, that when I post that name in parentheses, there was a question mark there also, to indicate its non-confirmed status.
When I arrived in DC, I was informed that the names had been whittled down to just three: Katherine, Andrea, and Jennifer.
Andrea was on the list to honor Olga’s grandfather who was named Andre, but it was later decided that Andre could be saved for a future possible brother and that it wouldn’t be right to have an Andrea and an Andre (even though we recently met a woman with quadruplets named Christian, Christina, Christopher, and ChristiAnn – no, really).
Katherine Lee got some flack because it would inevitably degrade to Kathy Lee (as in Regis).
And Jennifer, I don’t know what anybody said about Jennifer,
but when the baby was born, all those names flew out the window, because somehow, as pretty as those names were, they somehow did not match the baby’s prettiness.
So, after much sleep-deprived discussion post birth, a new name was decided:
Alina, which is a popular Russian name, to honor her Kyrgyz heritage. (This little one will grow up speaking Russian like her mother.)
Nari was my father’s suggestion and means both “lily” and “your highness” in Korean. (My sister’s youngest has the nickname “Leela wha dee” which means frangipani flower in Thai and both Bella and I have the middle name “Rose,” so flower names run in the family.)
Lee – THE FIRST GRANDCHILD TO BEAR THE LAST NAME “LEE”!!
Alina Nari Lee on her first day this side of the womb.