Two Kinds of Work, All Kinds of Family

June 4th, 2013. Categories / San Francisco

Two weeks ago was my last day of a month-long freelance advertising job. While a great shop, after a month of going to the same building every day it was beginning to feel like I was working there full time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

What $16,000 worth of advertising ideas looks like.

I needed to get back to my other project: creating appropriate illustrations and a separate website to get my second career going. Using my new Cintiq 13HD (review coming in a future post), I made eleven new spreads. Some are based on folk tales, others are from my imagination. Combined with some of my more narrative Dordles, I think it’s a good sample of my skills. Judge for yourself by visiting

I’m going to take this experiment one day at a time, but if it works, maybe I can ween myself off the bitter teat of advertising.

Working from home allows for plenty of walks and bike rides during the day, mostly to get food. In the evenings, I’m ready to have a relaxing evening with J.

Go home meter, you’re drunk.

A tear in reality.



Cheese salad.

Luxury pizza.

Luxury car.

A fallen sign.

A hoarders home.

J on the machine.

Walking through Golden Gate Park.

Flowers only a hummingbird could love.

Tree island.

Life finds a way.

Davis Realty Co.

I prefer Middle Ages Cafe.

True to its name.

Evergreen, sometimes empty.

Sesame balls.

Detail of the quilt J made from our wedding prayer flags.

Two Fridays ago, my mother flew in to visit. We spent the day walking on the beach, eating sizzling Korean rice bowls for lunch, and relaxing at home.

The following Saturday, we drove to Berkeley to visit a friend and pick up a tub of sourdough starter from The Cheeseboard. From there, we drove to Pleasant Hill to celebrate my Great Aunt and Uncle’s 60th anniversary. Many other relatives had driven down from Montana.

Hang glider landing zone at Fort Kronkite.

Mother approaches the ocean.



The drain god.

Smelly doors.

Lover’s Lane.

Return to Goldsworthy.

That evening, my mother made two excellent loaves of sour dough bread.

On Sunday, my parents and I went on a walk for dim sum, to Baker Beach and under the Golden Gate Bridge to Crissy Field for coffee. Along the bluffs, strawberries and blackberries were ready to eat. We avoided those in the dog pee blast radius.

Lost in family trivia.

Mother and son.

Dot matrix output.

Beverages in BW.

The family.

Instant quaintness.

Fresh sour dough.

Father entering the ancient woods.

Beach pipes.

The folks.

Cheese moss.

Wild radish versus wild brocoli.

Go right.

On Monday, we drove along the foggy coast to Half Moon Bay for breakfast at the small municipal airport, then cut east to San Jose. My Uncle was throwing a double birthday party, and many of the same guests from Saturday attended.

The backyard was inviting and comfortable, like a summer in pseudo-Tuscany. I was beatable in cribbage.

Just your ordinary cafe/police station/air traffic control building.

Place settings.

The postcard I made.

A wall of Dordles.

Mother and son.


A discussion.



Part of the octogenarians.

Slideshow laughs.

Entertain us.

My parents left on Tuesday. On Thursday, I met two generations of uncles for a walk around downtown and an afternoon Giants game. San Francisco won. After more walking and a cable car ride, I led them to their BART station and walked down Market to the bus. After an assortment of annoying crazies and thugs boarded, I got off and walked to a more pleasant bus line.

Along the way, I daydreamed of how to scoop all the losers from downtown and dump them in the bay.

Mother under the trumpets.

Our view at the stadium.

You call this turkey fresh!?

Does that make me a loser?

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