Photo: Thinkstock

It's a funny thing about families, how the people living in them can at once know each other as intimately as they ever know anyone (the particular creak of a mother's footstep, the way a father always sneezes after his shower, the way the smell of ketchup used to make a sister scream with disgust)—and hardly know each other at all. The stories our families tell about us are often strangely disconnected to the stories we would like to tell about ourselves. And we remember the oddest little moments, don't we, of our time together?

Like Julie Mangano, a blogger who recently lost her elderly father, and has written eloquently about the grieving process on her blog. In a post called "Driving With Dad," Mangano writes about the special bond she always had with her father, and in particular about a game they used to play: "Very early on in life my dad tried to teach me to read his mind. He created some flashcards with names of colors on them. He would hold up the blank side of the card to me and tell me to close my eyes, focus on what he was thinking (what?) and guess which color was named on the back of the card...After a few hours, I could name the right color every time he held up a different card. In retrospect it probably was more because I learned the patterns he used to switch around the cards and try to trick me... Whatever the reason, our bond was established and we remained deeply in sync for the rest of his life."

Do you ever feel as if you just need to be scrubbed clean? As if there were some authentic self there, but you just haven't seen her in a while, distracted as you've been with work and family and the difficult work of maintaining everyday life? Like you know the real you climbs mountains and writes haiku every weekend, but you somehow just haven't found the time to deal with her lately? Like maybe there's something hiding beneath the surface, like, say, a $600,000 lighthouse.

Allow me to explain: according to Art Info's In the Air blog, an 18th century painting attributed to the studio of French painter Claude-Joseph Vernet was recently sent to the cleaner's by an art dealer in preparation for the LAPADA Art  & Antiques Fair this week. (Check out the blog for the dingy pre-cleaning painting.) When the dealer got the bright-and-shiny-painting back, he found there was an entire section that had been painted over. There was now a lighthouse completing the composition, which not only changed the whole feel of the painting, but most significantly, revealed the painting to be in fact a work of Vernet himself, vastly increasing its value -- 16 fold.

There's always something exciting about a work of art that harbors a secret. And I love the idea that something so simple as a good cleaning could change a painting's fate, make an art lover a mint, and most of all, reveal a work's authenticity.

If only there were official restorations for people. It would be something between a spa day and a religious conversion, just a good soul-scrubbing, a little life-brightener.

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September 22 was the Autumnal Equinox, when day and night will be the same length for one strange day, before we slip into that cozy-or-depressing-depending-on-your-perspective darkness of autumn and winter. Every year the equinox inspires a 50/50 night and day of mixed emotions, too. I mean, don't you just love fall, with all its appley-pumpkiny-leafy crispness and opportunities for sweaters? And then there's Halloween, basically the only holiday worth celebrating. And yet there's always that dark, cold, mucky winter-chaser to gulp down afterwards, about which most of us feel less enthusiastic. So what do you do on the equinox? It must be something slightly mysterious, I think, slightly odd, in touch with nature in some askew way. Like, maybe, silent dancing?

Allow me to explain: a friend of mine recently shared this video, AKA the most beautiful, strange, haunting "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" report in the whole land of Facebook. She explained that she was strolling along on a hot summer night in Lisbon when she came across these people silently dancing the tango outside a church. The result is a dreamy spectacle, captured in a hazy camera-phone movie that I've since watched approximately 80,000,000 times, wishing I were one of those dancers. Something about the silence and the darkness make them seem not like individuals but like a force of nature.

So why not dance silent tangos at midnight in the week after this equinox? You don't need a church, just any sacred-ish space will do -- a backyard, or a courtyard, or a roomy fire escape -- and the will to give yourself permission to dance to the moon even when there is no music. Or at least watch this video a few times, while contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Happy Equinox.

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Who knows why we all keep saying ridiculous things like "I'm too old for that," when this is proven to be nonsense again and again? For example, say you're past your 20s (or 30s) and looking to take up a new, non-old-ladyish hobby. "I always loved gymnastics as a kid," you might say to yourself, "but that's impossible now, so I guess I'll take up crocheting." If you're German athlete/grandma Joanna Quaas, however, you resume your former gymnastics habit, and by 86 you're winning a Guinness World Record for oldest gymnast alive. And the unofficial Life Lift blog award for awesomest gymnast alive. You absolutely must see the photos and videos of her performing -- in her granny-glasses and all (and, bonus, the video also features a female sumo wrestler):



Of her world record, Quaas told The Daily Mail,"I hope the record inspires others to realize it's never too late." She also explained that her exercise routine includes running up and down the stairs, yoga, and running.  She is in much, much, much better shape than I have ever been or ever will be, but that's okay. She reminds us all that in a world more than ready to discourage a lady, or a senior citizen for that matter, we might as well encourage ourselves to try. Besides, I have a couple decades to attain my inner athletic greatness. And to find the perfect crushed-velvet leotard of my own.

via Shape.com

Happy Friday everyone! Here are a few more things to be grateful for:


Ben Folds Five teams up with Fraggle Rock for one of the happiest music videos around

In an art installation in Melbourne, 10,000 books glow in the streets (and makes one beautiful walk in the city) [via Thrash Lab]

Happy 30th birthday emoticons! Here's a brief history of the icons :) [via ABC News]

"All that matters is what you leave on the page." Zadie Smith's 10 rules of writing [via Brian Pickings]

Photo: Thinkstock

An eminent personage, a leader in his field, who had been teaching university classes for 30 years, once told me that he still felt like throwing up  every time he was about to teach a class. I found this confession at once reassuring and unsettling. You mean that jangling-butterfly-sensation never goes away, no matter how experienced you are? Rats. And, as it turns out, even big famous television stars, who perform for millions, who must see their faces on enormous posters all the time, who appear in national magazines and stare out at us from checkout lines all the time, yes, even those larger-than-life people get nervous.

San Francisco Chronicle TV Critic David Wiegand asked several Emmy nominee what they do to calm their pre-award-show jitters, and their answers ranged the gamut, from drinking "buckets"-worth of alcohol to drinking "small children's pools"-worth of alcohol. Mood-altering substance aside, some of the actors had some great advice to share.

-Mayim Bialik, of "Blossom," whoops I mean, "Big Bang Theory," said, "Music soothes the savage beast," recommending Adele and The Decemberists.

-"New Girl" Zooey Deschanel reminded us quite sensibly that actors are used to being nervous, but conceded that she "would just drink a glass of water and take a deep breath."

-And finally,  her fellow "New Girl" actor Max Greenfield dispensed some advice we could all do to follow, every day: "A case of presence. Yes. Not 'presents.' Presence. Yes, we want to bring ourselves into the present moment and say, 'Hey! Look at this. Look what's happening. Let's be grateful for this moment and take it all in.' You know what I mean?"

Mr. Greenfield, we do.

More relaxation tips -- and drink ideas! -- from the stars at SFGate.com.

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It's no secret that I love a good cry. Why else would I keep that darn copy of the bittersweet kid-growing-up-mist-maker Knuffle Bunny Free around? I can't even get near the end of that book without welling up, which my kids find exceedingly bizarre. And don't get me started on Toy Story 3, the consumate mom-mascara-melter. What is it about those stories? Kids grow up, they give up their toys. Those of us who have to wade through Lego minefields every day should rejoice at the promise of a teddy-bear-free living room, right?

But those toys, they are childhood. Every parent watches with wonder as toddlers go from chewing on their lovies to making them dance around and tell stories; as your kid bestows a particular personality on a stuffed monkey you start to play along, and soon you're as attached as the kid. Maybe this is why this YouTube viral video Ah-Ah's Back is such a tear-jerker:  Here we have the story of a family living through the lovey nightmare -- their kindergartener's beloved monkey Ah-Ah, who went with him everywhere, was lost on a vacation. THREE YEARS LATER, the mom found the monkey inexplicably for sale on eBay, bought it, and realized it really was Ah-Ah himself. Here, the boy's reaction:



to have that beloved monkey back, but nicest of all must be the lesson of the mysterious ways the universe can work, the feeling this kid will now have, his whole childhood, his whole life, that anything is possible.

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