Signs

L.A. is a funny place when our major freeway and major streets are shut down simultaneously. Things can get a little nutty. And so it was yesterday. With the 405 closed for major construction and numerous surface streets closed for the triathlon, what’s an Angeleno to do?

Yup, take to the streets.

I walked everywhere yesterday…even in the 90-degree weather. I walked to coffee. I walked to the store. I walked to the gym. I walked to the museum. I walked to a garden. I walked to yet another store. You get the idea.

I didn’t meet up with anyone yesterday, so it was a day of solitude: just me, the streets, my feet and my (thankfully) mostly peaceful thoughts. And I sort of understood, for the first time in my life, what all those monks and mediation teachers mean when speaking about the benefits of ‘walking meditation.’ (I must admit, in the past I thought – how boring!)

In all-day walking, there is no rushing, you have to pace yourself. It’s going to take however long it takes. Period. There are no shortcuts or detours, because, obviously, you can only walk as fast as you walk. It is what it is.

If it takes you 40 minutes to walk to the store, then it’s going to take 40 minutes. There’s no way around it. That’s how long it takes. You’re at your own pace – just you and your strides – you have to have full acceptance of this, because you can’t blame traffic or some a-hole cutting you off for how long or short it takes you to arrive at your destination. It’s all about you – which may seem confronting, but it’s actually an exciting relief, if you think about it – not being dependant on anyone but yourself to get you to where you need to go. Whew!

Also, the motion of putting one foot in front of another – all day long – shows you that you really can’t cut steps out of life. In the car (and in life), we look for shortcuts and distractions. A quicker route, a lane with less traffic. You can’t do this on foot. There are no shortcuts. It’s just walking – so basic – but such a reminder that we are only ever going to get anywhere by putting one foot, one step, in front of the other. Love it or hate it, it’s the only way things are going to get done.

And in that moment, I was reminded that realizations will come when they come, and that the point of life (once again) is to stay OPEN, even when (especially when) you have no clue what is going on, or how, perhaps, you got off track. Stay open. It will become clear.

In that moment I looked up to the sky, and saw the word LOVE in bold letters (see photo above). Perfect. Then I thought, “that could never happen twice.” At which point (see photo below) the word was written in the sky a second time, just to drive the point home.

There is the divine in the most mundane. Spirit is only ever inside of us. Beautiful ‘exterior’ reminders supporting us along the way. Happy travels.

Garden Lesson #1

Summer is taking its sweet ass time to wind down, but on the schoolyard, Garden Club is just gearing up.

In spite of hideous 90-degree weather here in L.A. that has barely budged since early August, the kids and I have met faithfully amongst the struggling plants for the past three weeks.

I learn a lot as the “garden lady” at my kid’s school – leading classes, tending the plants and running the weekly Garden Club. But today, in the dizzying heat, an extra sweet teaching arrived. It’s really basic, but it’s sort of the foundation upon which everything great is built:

Show Up

The same kids (and I) show up each and every Garden Club meeting, pretty much no matter what. Week after week, year after year, we are there.

We show up.

If it’s sweltering outside, we show up. If it’s cold and damp, we show up. If I’m tired, grumpy or have no idea what the day’s lesson will be, I still show up. If a child is shy or insecure, she still shows up. If someone felt slighted last week because everyone else got four baby tomatoes and he only got three, the next week, he still shows up.

They show up in good and bad weather, both internally and externally. How do I know this? Because I’m there every week to witness it.

This is better than you can say for most ‘grown ups.’

People like to talk…a lot. But talk doesn’t build a garden, a relationship, a life. Plant more seeds. Pull some weeds. Take the time to nurture what you’ve planted. Admit when you don’t know shit. Be honest when it’s time to let go, or be patient and wait for the harvest. Stand with your fellow gardener(s).

Don’t disappear just because it’s hot that day or you got slighted a tomato or two…the seven year olds don’t.

Communing with the Canyon – Home is where the Heart is

I’m spontaneous and intuitive or impulsive and foolish – depending on your vantage point. Maybe I’m all of these things – and I like it that way.

I’ve written before about my connection to the canyon – it’s a literal place for me and a metaphor. A place where I physically grew up and grew into who I am, as well as a symbol of freedom, fearlessness, homecoming and LOVE. It’s both – and I like it that way.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post called Ranch Land which was a special account for me of growing up on some land at the top of a mountain. That experience shaped me forever. The open air, warm earth, sage, animals, sparkly stars and onyx night sky – those things actually live and breathe inside of me, though I hadn’t visited that mountain in about 25 years.

Until yesterday.

One moment I was sitting in my house drinking iced tea and eating blackberries and the next moment I found myself in my car, on my way to the top of that mountain. Why yesterday, why that exact moment? I have no logical answer for this, except that I was ready.

I made the long and beautiful drive up Pacific Coast Highway and had an almost out of body experience as the car turned up the small road that I’d travelled so many times as a child. Surreal.

I wish that I could say that I felt instantly transported back. But I didn’t. Even for a raw mountain, it looks different – more houses, more ranches. But in spite of these external changes, the fact is that I’m not six years old in the back of my dad’s truck anymore. I’m 36, things are different now.

It was absolutely gorgeous – but not the same.

I drove to the very top of the massive mountain (it’s a long drive) to find the base of a hiking trail that was not there when I was a kid. Though I was in a lightweight sundress, flip flops and a thin cashmere sweater, I parked the car and started gliding up the trail. Like I said – either blissfully spontaneous or ridiculously foolish.

Or both.

Everyone else was coming down the mountain geared up with hiking boots, metal hiking poles, backpacks, North Face fleece jackets with gizmos attached to them and water canteens. Oops, that’s right, I also had no water or food.

But there I was floating up that mountain. And it was beautiful – but not the same.

I kept getting higher and higher and for whatever reason, I wasn’t afraid at all, though I’d never been on this trail, was wearing beach attire, had no rations, no cell phone reception, no sunscreen – oh, and had told not even one soul where I was.

But I’m not thinking about these things. Well, I sort of am thinking about these things while marveling about how not nervous I am in spite of them.

Because I was so taken with the beauty.

More than air, water or even fire, I really am a land person, and this land is, simply, magical. After climbing for a mile or two, I found the perfect spot and just sat there for a very long time.

Then, in an instant, it was time to go – I was ready, and I started to make my descent. I will say that my bad ass attitude instantly changed as the sun was setting, I’m nearing the bottom of the trail expecting to see my car, only to realize I’m nowhere near where I started.

I’m totally lost, and I’m starting to freak out.

Did I say spontaneous…I meant foolish.

And for a few frightening minutes I had very dramatic visions of dying up there. A snake would get me. Or I’d slip and break my leg and no one would be around to find me. Or I’d starve. It would make for a good story: Woman visits canyon of her youth and takes her last breath there.

But that’s not what happened. I don’t get off that easy. Who will do the laundry, make dinner, and write these blog posts for my 20 loyal readers (thanks readers!).

I finally did get to the bottom of a trail – a completely different trail – and flagged down some guys just about to leave who drove my ass back up the canyon, back to my car. I was dripping with sweat, nerves racing, thinking how dumb I was.

Or was I?

Gratefully at home in my cozy bed last night I realized that you can’t go home again. The canyon was the same, but not the same at all. My dad wasn’t there, the barking dogs weren’t there, nor were the hundreds of other minute but precious details that made it exactly as it was, during that period of time.

And surprisingly, I’m grateful for this.

Because I realized that the canyon – the beauty, lessons and life it gave me – has never not been there. I’m not tracking back to something, as I thought I had been. It’s been here all along! It lives and breathes in me, as it has done since I was a little girl. I can go back there any moment I want just by sitting in my own heart, breathing it in.

And this is true of any experience or any person in your life, with whom you want to connect – they are right there. The love, the good memories, the reasons why you were at that place or came together with that person are always alive and informing who you are.

They say nothing is ever outside of you, it’s only ever inside of you. Well, I have an entire canyon alive and thriving inside this heart of mine. It’s been here all along…and it’s fucking beautiful.

Climbing the canyon...

Still climbing...

This is the view I remember as a child - massive mountains and ocean meeting sky. Last time I was photographed here was 25 years ago!

This is Home for me

Running (nearly) barefoot in the canyon - swolen toes to prove it

Did you read my post called "Crystal Canyon"? I found the blue sapphire - seriously!

Yucca flowers look like little dancing hearts

My rescue party - never so happy to be in a car with three strange (but cute) men in my life!

Sleeping on a White Cloud…even with a little thunder along the way

Sometimes the path to getting exactly what you want is littered with a few things you could do without. I’m learning that the less desirable aspects to realizing a goal are just a normal part of the process; and that it’s a choice to focus on where you want to go, rather than be distracted by the annoyances that show up along the way.

Choosing to see things from this vantage point is a huge departure from some of the ‘spiritual’ teachings I’ve learned over the years that insist that everything – absolutely everything – happens for a deeper reason. Yes, I think that there is an opportunity to learn from each experience, but I no longer believe that all things necessarily have some profound hidden message. One of the fun parts of growing up (not just growing older) is realizing that you get to figure things out for yourself. And I’ve come to feel that while sometimes things do happen for a deeper reason, sometimes they happen because, well…shit just happens.

I realized this earlier this week as I set out to give my bedroom a little makeover. I should backtrack to say that while many areas of my life are solid and steady, I am a perpetual re-organizer when it comes to my house. I love to move furniture from room to room, paint a wall on a moment’s notice or even transplant my bedroom into the living room (but that only happened once and it was years ago). Moving things around always gives me a fresh perspective, and makes me feel like I’ve totally redecorated, typically without purchasing a single new item.

Most of the time I’m all about color, and even though I won’t be putting a finger (for now) on my beloved Blue Room, I suddenly decided that I needed everything in my bedroom to be pale, serene and light. I guess there is something about a new fresh new year that inspires a need to clear out and begin anew. Luckily, my bedroom walls were already a beautiful light color (it’s called Blank Canvas in case you were curious) but my textiles (bedding and curtains) were decidedly colorful and patterned. This meant the fun task of purchasing a new white duvet and curtains. When I brought the new comforter home, naturally I wanted to wash it first, but this set off a series of fiascoes so extreme that I wondered if I was on a decorating version of Punk’d.

First off, my washing machine malfunctioned with the comforter in it and I opened the washer door to find my pristine white duvet covered in brown gunk. I immediately put the mess in the bathtub to hose it off, then wrapped it in a sheet and carried the wet bulky blob past my garden to the car, not realizing that in the process, I broke the stem off a new bloom on my FAVORITE orchid plant that only flowers once a year. Then, I threw the dripping mound in the back of my car, not realizing that my yoga bag was back there, which got soaked and bled bright pink and orange color back onto the comforter. I drove straight to the Laundromat and managed to get the blanket into a huge machine, and by some miracle, it came out of the wash basically white again. Then I put it in the dryer, only to realize after the fact that the inside of the old machine was covered in black gunk, which added dark spots onto the comforter.

I’m pretty sure that the Old Me would have gone to an overly analytical, worrysome place, searching for the deeper meaning of all of this. I would have thought that maybe turning my bedroom into a pale haven was a mistake, or that I didn’t ‘deserve it’ because there are people less fortunate than me who don’t even have the option to redecorate. Or, I would have thought that the store where I purchased the comforter (Target) is just a huge corporation filled with bad energy. Or I would have thought that my garden was doomed in 2012 because my beloved orchid flower snapped off the first week of the year. Or maybe I would have worried that there was some deeper message about unseen troubles with my yoga practice because my bag bled onto the wet blanket.

Whew!!! Isn’t it amazing where the mind can go?

Yes, the entire process of getting the white blanket from the store onto my bed was filled with many annoyances, but I was so happy to see that somehow, this time, I was able to roll with each step of the way. Rather than think the worst about my little makeover, or that some deeper meaning of doom was hidden inside, I realized that sometimes sucky things happen in the greater scheme of reaching your ultimate goal. This is normal. This is life. It happens.

In the end, I’m very happy to report that my (mostly) white new blanket is cozily on my bed, and that I’m loving sleeping on a peaceful white cloud.

Good night and sweet dreams!

Painting Project – amateur art for the fun of it

I was really lucky that as a kid my parents fostered my love of art. When I was nine years old, they put me in my first drawing class. I took painting, collage and life drawing classes (yes, real naked people) at a wonderful school here in LA when I was 14. When it came time to pick a major in college, I remember sitting with my mom on the couch with the UCSB application in hand, scanning the dozens of options. She asked me what I wanted to study, and when I said Art History, she didn’t flinch. I enjoyed four wonderful years of studying all types of art. I also took some art and drawing classes post graduate at UCLA in their Landscape Architecture department.

That said, I never think of myself as an artist. I’m married to an amazing artist, and many of my friends are very accomplished painters. Being surrounded by all this talent has been a little intimidating because I always compare my work to theirs – and my efforts never seem to stack up.

Since I’m getting back to my “I don’t care” basics, I’ve decided that because I love painting, I’m going to do it weather it turns out ‘good’ or not. I love the whole process: fishing through the beat up metal box of paints, squeezing the tubes on the pallet and watching the colors come alive when you mix them with water. It’s really magical to see the color that emerges from under the brush when you’re stroking it across the page.

Yet because I don’t see myself as a ‘real painter’ I’ve let my watercolors and collection of art paper collect dust. Time to focus more on the fun of the experience, and not worry so much about it being perfect. (I’m teaching these same themes to my son, by the way – there’s nothing like having a kid to give you a refresher course on what’s important in life).

I decided to go for a self portrait, with the theme of bees. A couple days ago I had my hubby take a photo of me. Then, yesterday afternoon when my son was reading from his Star Wars Encyclopedia for an hour (don’t ask) I inked in the drawing. Then, last night when my guys were busy playing Pokemon till 9PM (don’t ask), I did the watercolor on top of the drawing.

I kind of like the end result – it reminds me of how my paintings looked back when I was in art class as a young teenager. Weather I developed my style early on (yeah right) or I’ve never progressed passed a 14-year-old art student level, it doesn’t really matter. I had a lot of fun doing it, and I’m sharing it here as an expression of creating something simply for the fun of it.

study for self portrait

Self Portrait: Bee Keeper

Learning what it means to be a TRUE friend

How do you tackle a post about friendship? It’s such a vast world, like trying to reduce the idea of ‘mother’ or ‘life’ down to a few words on a page.

I suppose I can start by saying that I have been extremely blessed in my life to have numerous friends throughout the years. I tend to meet people easily, and I’ve been so lucky to have strong, powerful people in my life who have supported me and helped me grow. And sometimes, the real growth and trust between two people occurs when you least expect it.

Today I’m thinking of one friend in particular who I met almost seven years ago. When we first met, to be honest, I didn’t really notice her. Over the years, we’d see each other around town, and most of the time I couldn’t even remember her name.

Then, during the summer of last year, we saw each other again in a class and she asked for my phone number, “Maybe we could meet for a coffee,” she said. Yeah right, I thought to myself, she’ll never call – people always say they want to get together, but rarely do they follow through.

I was shocked when she actually called, and we met the following week. I suppose our time had come, because from that moment on, we were basically inseparable.

We spent the next 15 months completely enthralled and enamored with each other. My husband jokingly called her my girlfriend. She was showering me with endless love and attention, and I was doing the same for her. We were in a constant state of visits, phone calls, texts, emails, sharing handmade gifts and exploring ideas about life, love, family and what it all means.

I was in heaven.

I not only adored this person, I adored what she was willing to offer me in terms of attention and intensity. I’d finally found someone who could sustain the level of energy that I thrive on (I’m a redheaded Leo, passion is our blood).

Then, like that, (from my perspective), it all came to a screeching halt. In an instant, I felt her pull away. What was once an explosive fireworks show now felt like an empty sky. I was overcome with sadness at what I perceived was gone.

I debated broaching the subject with her. I wanted to leave my ego out of it, and not be overly sensitive. Maybe she simply got busy, or was dealing with something in her life, or, even worse (but I was willing to accept it) she’d simply had her ‘fill’ of me, and didn’t want to be friends any more.

Yesterday, we finally got to talk. We ended up having a really important conversation, and boy did I learn a lot, both about our friendship and myself. Yes, as I suspected, she was going through some life stuff, and simply needed to have some space to experience that – it had nothing to do with me.

But what I learned is that TRUE friendship is about not putting expectations, rules, control or attachments onto other people. And unconsciously I was doing that to my friend. I was totally game when she wanted to get together or talk on the phone for two hours or give me endless attention, but when she needed space, was I willing to give her what she needed, even if it wasn’t what I wanted?

I realize now that real friendship isn’t about the other person filling the role that you want them to, it’s about two autonomous people coming together to have a shared experience, that, by definition, will evolve and change over time. Though my friend never said it (and I don’t think she was even thinking it) I can see now that the insecure part of me was being selfish and needy, but blaming her for ‘leaving me behind.’ Real friendship is about trusting the bond between two people, even when you can’t see it, or as it naturally evolves.

It was probably naïve of me to expect that she and I could sustain that level of intensity for the long haul. And what if I was the one who needed space? It would be nice to think that she could gift that to me, without being needy, insecure, or upset that I changed the dynamic of our relationship. I always want others to give me the freedom to be me, but the truth is that I wasn’t offering the same freedom to my friend.

I realize now that true friends allow each other to be exactly as they are, without expectations or unconscious demands on how you want the other person to be. I was so preoccupied with what I thought I’d ‘lost’ that I wasn’t really stopping to consider what my friend needed, or that I hadn’t lost anything it all, it just had changed. You’d think that with all the time I spend in nature, observing how plants evolve and change, I’d have learned to apply this to people and relationships. I guess I’m a slow learner.

In the end, it’s about taking care of yourself so that you are filling your own well, so to speak, not looking to others to do that for you (my friend lovingly reminded me of that). I am excited and open to see where the next stage of our friendship takes us, with no preconceived ideas of what that ‘should’ look. Who knows, with no expectations whatsoever, the next phase could be even more beautiful than the first.

Garden Club – The Learning Curve

They say that teachers learn as much as they teach. I definitely think that’s true. While I’m certainly not a teacher at my son’s school (I leave that to the paid saints), as a parent volunteer I do assume the ‘instructor’ role for a few hours each week during Garden Club, which is now in full swing.

Last year I was lucky enough to have a partner to co-run the operation – a friend and fellow parent. But now that she’s moved out of the city and on to greener pastures, it’s just me and 20 kids each week making our way through the dirt, weeds and worms.

I’ve definitely learned a lot, even in the past few weeks since school began:
1. Things turn out a lot better when you have no expectations…at all…whatsoever.
2. Let other people help you. Repeat: let other people help you.
3. Things don’t need to be perfect for them to turn out exactly as they are supposed to.

Since there is no way for me, as one person, to do everything or get it right every time, things have been a lot more fun and relaxed once I gave into the flow of Garden Club, rather than trying to perfect it. If my intention is for everyone to have a positive experience, then it really doesn’t matter if someone gets a wet shoe, a dirty fingernail or if an eager little hand accidentally breaks the limb off a tiny plant. Shoes will dry and plants will grow back.

I’ve also learned to be less harsh on myself. Specifically, I no longer feel I have to do EVERYTHING on my own as I originally went into this thinking. Nobody likes a martyr, least of all me. To this end, I’ve gently asked some of the other parents to step in from time to time to help fill watering cans, move tools or assemble the kids when it’s time to line up and plant. Yes, even I can learn. Sometimes the parents are willing to help, and sometimes they just aren’t in a space to do so. Since I’ve let go of how it needs to turn out, I’m not attached to who helps and who doesn’t. I’m grateful when someone can step in, and quickly move on when someone says they don’t have time to help.

I’ve also been amazed by the kids. Either by luck, or chance or thanks to the garden fairies, we haven’t had any more trouble since our initial watermelon incident. The kids have been excited, sweet, helpful and curious. Their enthusiasm and gratitude is, truly, adorable.

A couple of weeks ago, when we did our Fall-themed planting, I thought to myself that I wish I’d made time to stop at the grocery store to pick up a pumpkin to decorate the planter box. But I didn’t have time, and I decided that was ok. As luck would have it, one of the girls just happened to bring a home-grown pumpkin with her that day to decorate the garden. Go figure. When I asked her what prompted her to bring the pumpkin, she said, simply, “It just seemed like the right thing to do.” I love that.

This past week, while I did make it to the nursery to buy more plants and the hardware store to purchase new watering cans, I simply didn’t have the energy to go to the thrift store, as I’d originally planned, to purchase clothes to spruce up the scarecrow. I made the decision that it was more important for me to arrive at the garden – and the gaggle of kids – with enthusiasm, patience and energy than complete an errand that would have only worn me out.

As ‘luck’ would have it another student just happened to bring a shirt and hat for our scarecrow. It worked out perfectly, and now that little girl will be able to look at the garden and see a piece of herself in there, too. In allowing myself to not have to do everything, it creates a place for others to find their place, as well.

In the end, it is just Garden Club after all. Mother Nature’s had the whole system worked out perfectly for thousands of years, it’s us humans who are just catching on.

I love that a "Garden Angel" keeps watch over the plants