I Heart the Beach

My dog beach days with my canine pal are sadly numbered. We had a particularly great one yesterday though, and hopefully, we can sneak in a couple more in the next few weeks. I was a little, okay more than a little, hung over after a quick jaunt out to Joshua Tree Sunday night for W&L’s Halloween party, and almost settled for a nap instead of making the effort to go to dog beach. I’m so glad we did! I just always feel better after an afternoon out there. What am I going to do when my pal moves away? Sad.

The tide was really low yesterday. Lower than I’ve ever seen it at this particular beach and we always go at about the same time of the day. It made for an awesome rock and shell graveyard though at the bottom (or is that the top) of the beach where the surf is usually crashing. Maybe it’s because there was a full moon last night? Just as long as it wasn’t a sign that a tsunami is next.

It's Official

I’m a Californian. Experienced my first earthquake yesterday! October 28, 2012 at 8:25 a.m., 3.9 on the Richter scale. I honestly thought it was a really big truck driving down the alley underneath my bedroom window. I have a ceramic glove form that sits on my dresser. I hang my necklaces on it. It rattled for a minute or so.

It was a good starter earthquake, I think.

It's All In A Word

Drove from the Valley to Venice Beach yesterday morning and avoided using a single freeway. I am what you might call, surface road girl! I don't mind the freeways, honestly. I mean, yeah, they're super congested and it's a total drag sometimes, but I've found that I'm pretty comfortable on them after all. Confusing numbers, breakneck speeds, winding roadways, and all. I just like the surface roads. I feel more connected to the city or something. LA is s...p...r...a...w...l...i...n...g, so knowing which neighborhood is where and how to navigate through them to get to wherever you need to be is, well, kind of essential.

Yesterday's drive was particularly nice though. Most of my time was spent on the really beautiful section of Topanga Canyon Boulevard that winds, and I mean winds, through that gorgeous canyon and bottoms out right smack dab into the Pacific Ocean. Honestly, you exit the canyon and the ocean, in all its glory, is quite suddenly twenty feet in front of you. It's a stunningly abrupt and stunningly gorgeous moment. Hang a right, and you're headed for Malibu and all points north. I was headed south through Pacific Palisades, home to what has to be the most expensive trailer park known to man-kind, then Santa Monica, and finally into Venice. Had coffee with a new friend and lunch with an old one, and then drove back exactly the way I had gotten there just so I could enjoy that canyon one more time and take some photos.

I was so taken with the Topanga landscape that I decided a hike there was exactly what I needed today. Fresh air, long walk, clear my head. Or more precisely, get out of my head. This year, I've had a sort of 'meditation word' I guess is the best phrase for it, "unfolding". Simply a word I've been repeating to myself to keep all the madness and changes in perspective. Helps me to remember all things are fluid and evolving, nothing is certain. This past week and a half though, my meditation word had morphed, much to my dismay, into something much less affirmative, "unraveling". I had seemingly lost my badass mojo. There were a couple of events that started the spool spinning of course, but really it's been mostly just me, spending too much time in my head. And not writing about it! I've felt a sort of responsibility to keep, what I had come to be afraid was an illusion, going. Not to admit in writing that I was feeling anxious and unsettled and frankly, sad. It's amazing what a little fresh air, a long walk, and a chat with a friend can do. "Think" with your heart, my friends. It's a much more accurate tool than the computer in your skull.*


*With thanks to my always insightful and almost always calm friend.

That's Punny

Today, I remembered to stop, and smell the buffalo.

Topanga Canyon roadside art

The Perfect Job

It was a beeyouteefull day at the dog beach today. Cloudy. Has been for days, but still a big blue sky and the water felt warm. I guess because the air was a little chilly, and by chilly I mean 67ish degrees, but I was sporting my jean jacket so that means chilly. It was kind of an odd day too though. They’re doing some beach erosion work. Necessary I guess, but lots of heavy, noisy machinery is not really what you’re looking for at the beach. Last week when my pal and I were there, we were talking to a surfer dude, his dog’s name was Marley, didn’t get the surfer dude’s name. Unfortunately. Marley’s dad was telling us the sand level on the beach is lower than they want and they were bringing sand in from other areas and dumping it onto this beach. Or something like that – Surfrider Foundation and erosion and this huge ship the four of us sat and watched maneuver really closely to shore and gathering and dumping and the San Diego bay sand was gross so they were finding new sand and I gotta be honest, he kind of lost me. It’s not that Marley’s dad or the subject was uninteresting, but when I’m sitting on the beach, looking out at the waves and the sky and the birds and the dogs and the surfers, it’s hard for me to keep my mind from wandering. Really wish I had paid closer attention though. A. It would have been much more polite. And B. I would have known what they were doing today!

We also saw two dead seagulls washed up in the surf today. Now, I think seeing one is a pretty unique thing to see, but two? Two seems almost ominous. I didn’t get a photo of either of the dead seagulls. Unfortunately. Wanted to, but my pal kind of wanted to eat them, so I steered clear. I did, however, find the most beautiful shell. There aren’t a lot of shells at the dog beach, almost none actually. Lots of rocks, and I love me some rocks! But just a smattering of mostly broken, mostly average, mostly not interesting enough to bend down and wash off and stick in your pocket type of shells. This one though, caught my eye.

Some seaweed caught my eye too. There’s a lot of seaweed on the west coast, most of it brown and sort of slimy. And when it’s low tide, it’s my pal’s most favorite thing to stop and sniff and pee on. It can sometimes take us fifteen minutes to walk ten feet. This bunch was different though, like a mermaid’s wedding bouquet.

So, what career can I have where I spend all day walking on the beach, playing with the dog, chatting with surfers, taking photos, and collecting rocks? Cause that sounds like a great job to me.

Lost In Transition

Spent this perfectly lazy, rainy day on the sofa with my canine pal, watching movies.

Upside: spent this perfectly lazy, rainy day on the sofa with my pal, watching movies.

Downside: much too much time to think.

And we all know what happens when you have too much time to think. You spend all that time thinking.

Absolutely no good can come of that. Trust me.


“I have to be leaving…but I won’t let that come between us, okay?”

Motel...Yes No

Found myself a little slice of the Big Apple right in downtown LA this afternoon. Pumpkin and I and my canine pal hit up the bi-annual Artwalk at The Brewery Artist Lofts in Lincoln Heights. Really exceptionally cool place, and the Artwalk was a blast, and packed! So much fun wandering in and out of the different studios, everything from hand-painted silk scarves (if I was currently employed, I might own one of those right now) to Steampunk sculpture and rock iconography paintings (would definitely own one of those), and from photography and jewelry to cooking classes. The whole vibe of the event, not to mention the lofts themselves, are so reminiscent of New York City, it made me nostalgic for the eleven years I spent there. So, it was quite the coincidence I got an email with a photo today from my two bff's, K and Bec, who are enjoying themselves a little NYC getaway this weekend. I miss New York. And I miss my girls!

So, here's the plan: rent a loft in The Brewery, which allows me the luxury to spend my time writing some things, and I don't know making cigar box guitars, or taking some photos, or building things with power tools, and then sell these things to pay for the loft in The Brewery which then allows me the luxury to spend my time doing all those things some more. It's a good plan, right?

Out to the universe it goes. Motel...Yes!

artwork by Robert Morgan

Moments of Zen

Seems a little crazy to say I had a stressful morning, and yet, there it was.

My solution was to spend the afternoon at the dog beach with my canine pal. I pretended to be going for him. It was really for me. I didn’t know it would be deserted today. How could I? And yet, there it was. It was the perfect solution.

Breathe, Part Two

Don't want to forget:

Three adorable little girls, all daughters of party celebrants and ranging in ages from about 6 to 11, I'd say. As soon as the sound bath was over, they high-tailed it out of the Integratron. No laying around relaxing for those three. They were super quiet about it, but definitely on a mission. I didn't last long either. Ten minutes after the bowl playing ended I needed to get outdoors too. When I got outside, I saw them all sitting together in a swing. Once they caught sight of me headed their way, one of them yelled to me, "we escaped!" and lots of giggling ensued. With a big smile on my face, I said, "I heard you escape". The one who let the escape cat out of the bag sat up really straight and full of seriousness said, "Is that why you left too"?

It still makes me smile.

Remember To Breathe

A drive out to the high desert is almost always a good idea, but especially so when you’re headed there for a weekend-long dual birthday party, even if you’re only catching the tale end of it.

The people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet in Joshua Tree have been so incredibly gracious. They open their homes and their gatherings not just to their family and friends, but also friends of friends, and I’d venture to say friends of friends of friends. This summer, I met two such people who I honestly don’t think are incidentally married to one another. That time, they threw a last-minute party together, at 10 p.m., in their home, because they could. There was food and drink and warm and friendly conversation. We took advantage of their desert generosity until 4 a.m. and watched the sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park that same morning.

This past weekend they were celebrating their birthdays, 100 years of W&L! There was a music festival happening as well, so the weekend lent itself to some good times, I’m sure. Didn’t make it out in time to catch any of the festival, but caught plenty, just the same. W&L had commissioned an entire campground of sorts for their friends and family for the weekend, Rimrock Ranch. If you find yourself in Joshua Tree, California for any reason, and honestly I don’t know why you wouldn’t some day, check it out. The place is simply awesome.  Sunday night ended up much like the summer party, family, friends, friends of friends, and of friends, food and drink, and music and conversation and s’mores around the fire pit, and all on an unbelievably beautiful and cool, in every sense of that word, desert night. Again, the party slipped into the wee hours of the morning, but the celebrating wasn’t over just because it was now Monday.

Laurie, making s'mores.

Wally, Brad, Bernie, and Steve, making music.

I have two words for you, sound bath. Seriously, one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever done. W&L scheduled a private one on Monday afternoon for again, family, friends, of friends, whoever was still in JT from the weekend and wanted to bathe, basically. I know what you’re thinking, holy cow, SO California! Yeah maybe, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Or a bowl beat. It was really cool. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that. Or get yourself out to Integratron and give it a whirl. I’d recommend the latter.

The last stop on the birthday extravaganza train was lunch. Where else, but at a friend’s home. Not a friend of mine, mind you, but, like I said, it doesn’t matter in the desert. I know someone who they know, so that makes us friends. Quite possibly, the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen, custom-built by the owner, tucked into the desert like a mesa that’s been there for thousands of years, and filled with found treasures from all over the world. More food. More drink. More music. More conversation. Desert people know how to live.

Lunch was gourmet pizzas, made to order by two local chefs. They smelled divine. When the home owner’s son, who I had met about thirty minutes prior, found out I couldn’t eat them, without questioning, without hesitation, and without my knowledge, he went into the house and gathered a plate of fresh veggies and had the chefs grill them up, just for me, because desert people not only know how to live, they treat strangers and one another with such incredible kindness, and they don't have to be reminded to "remember to breathe". That sign is most certainly for the visitors. 

The Quintessential Badass

Went to see Patti Smith last night at a beautiful old theater in downtown San Diego. She read from her award-winning book, Just Kids, (if you haven't read it, read it now) and sang a few songs with her bassist and guitarist in tow, and answered some questions, and sang again. She speaks her mind, is awkwardly charming, and funny, and lovely, and so incredibly talented, and so extraordinarily bad ass.

The theater was packed. There was a standing ovation when she walked on stage. Every excerpt elicited a deafening round of applause. Every joke, a laugh. Every song, a singalong. Every hand went up during the Q&A. And everyone stood at the end. Again. As we were walking out, Calm said, "I would travel just about any distance to hear her do Because the Night." Yeah, me too. It's songwriting genius and to hear her perform it acoustically was a few minutes of musical zen. I said to Calm, "I gotta admit, I'm sort of feeling like I should never write again. I was - am - intimidated by how seemingly easily she inhabits her utter awesomeness. Or maybe, write every single thought I have! When she was reading the passage about the time her family took her away to the beach, right after Mapplethorpe's death, when she thought her grief was only apparent to herself, I was in tears. I was transfixed on her story, but couldn't help myself from thinking about all the things I wanted to write about my people and my grief and my adventures and my joys and wishing I had a pen and a notebook or that I could secretly use the voice recorder on my phone." It was maybe the perfect way to spend a Saturday night.

Listened to Nick Lowe's fantastic and latest record, The Old Magic on the way home (if you haven't heard it, download it now). Maybe the perfect thing to be listening to right now. I slept hard, and I dreamed. I haven't had a dream in, I don't even know how long. Years maybe.

Spent the afternoon at the dog park today. Maybe the perfect way to spend this typically beautiful California afternoon.

And, I guess I'll be writing a few things down too.

The Color Purple

Seriously, I've been looking a little battered. Moving is physical work. So is adventuring. And let's be honest, I tend to bump into things anyway. But two weeks later, the dozens of bruises I have on my arms and legs should be going away, right?

Got out of the shower this morning and was reminded of one I had completely forgotten about. The telltale sign that you had fun at Rocket Day. The unexpected and unexplained contusion the size of an orange and the color of a plum.

On your badass.

Am thinking that one's gonna be there awhile.

"Did You Bring This Rain With You?"

A stranger asked me that this afternoon. I'm kind of beginning to wonder. Turns out, it actually does rain in southern California. At least it did today. Really hard too and for a while. I was out in it and it wasn't so bad. Until my phone went off like a champ with an "EMERGENCY WARNING - FLASH FLOOD ALERT" that scared the crap out of me. The actual warning was enough to get my heart pumping, but the noise my phone made -- it was alarming. And yes, I know that's the point, but jeez. I texted calm friend and Pumpkin, just to see if this was something I should take seriously. Or not. I mean, what do I know? I've only been here thirteen days and I'm told it only rains three days a year. It could be bad, right? Things could flood. There was an alert, after all!


The calm one responded right away. With a joke.


Pumpkin texted me back not to worry. An hour later.


I'm gonna go with - Or not.

A Good Day?

You know what's not badass? Spending the entire day in the yoga pants and tee you slept in the night before. Maybe I'm still worn out from Rocket Day. Or, maybe it's the years of complete exhaustion finally catching up with me. Whatever the cause, today the blog would be more appropriately titled "Adventures of a Middle Aged Lazy Ass".

One of my favorite blogs, Daily Odd Compliment, hit it right on the head though:

So, yeah, today was a good day.

Rocket Man...and His Friends

I'm tempted to say what happens at Rocket Day stays on the dry lakebed, but really, what fun would that be?

I've not been a fan of camping. In the past. Rocket Day just may have changed all that. Although, I did find out once I got there that sometimes desert camping can include tarantulas – luckily for me, not this year. And if I had known about the possible tarantula invasion beforehand, I might not have gone. Okay, I wouldn’t have gone, but then I would have missed all this…

The day started out with a sunrise freeway drive through the San Fernando Valley to pick up my sentry into the world of Rocket Day. It was a beautiful drive actually. Freeways and all. Pumpkin was in charge of food, which meant stopping at not less than three grocery stores, just part of the adventure. Once we got going, we made one detour down a small section of Route 66 that yielded some cigar box guitar parts and an art installation of glass bottle trees. And Elmer, The Bottletree Man. He was completely worth the detour. Our last stop in civilization or Barstow, California as some people call it, was for cold drinks and restrooms and then straight into skinnin' country. You know, those areas in the high desert where the locals bundle their trailers together on hilltops so they can see you coming and you just know they’re up there cooking meth or hunting and gathering human hides. Probably both. It’s quite charming. Sure, we may have been delirious from the drive and the desert sun, but we’ll never really know, will we? I’m just glad we were navigating our way through skinnin' country in full daylight.

Most of the Rocket Day campers were already there by the time we arrived. It was a little bit what landing on Mars must be like, I think. Cars and trailers and tents grouped into several mini campsites all along the edge of a dry lakebed somewhere out in the vast Mojave Desert. Big desert sun shining. Music blaring - from a turntable, no less. Rockets red glaring. The site was quite the sight. We borrowed some bikes and went from campsite to campsite saying our hellos and inviting everyone to the jambalaya feast, which was Pumpkin’s first course on the Rocket Day menu. It was hearty and campy and delicious. The people, the Rocket Day people, are warm, and generous, and friendly. I’d already known this about Pumpkin’s friends who I’d met on previous vacations to LA, so it was honestly no surprise that the larger group would be exactly the same. No surprise, but still amazingly cool.

As the sun set, unbelievably beautifully, the stars came out in force. A blanket of stars like you only see in places like that, and practically impossible to describe. When the Big Dipper spends it’s evening just on the horizon’s edge, you know there are a lot of stars up there! And as the moon rose, as equally beautifully as the sun had set, we sent some Japanese lanterns into the desert sky too. Just for fun.

Rocket day was a desert festival of friends and drinking, and eating and drinking, and rockets and drinking, and biking and drinking, and dancing and drinking, and bonfires and…apparently, there was some tequila involved, and that’s where things get a little fuzzy. Unlike Area 51 though, there is photographic evidence.

We baked out in the desert sun and shivered through the desert night, and ate too much and drank too much, and slept in a tent and squatted behind tumbleweed, and spilled wine on my boots while riding Elizabeth’s bicycle and I will most definitely do it all again next year. Provided the tarantulas decide to take the day off again.

Wine On My Boot

So incredibly beat from Rocket Day. Much more later :)

The First Time(s)

I've been out to dinner in LA dozens of times. Last night, was the first time I've been out in LA and I wasn't on vacation. It was a fantastic restaurant, Yamashiro, nestled up on a Hollywood hill. Pumpkin chose it. Great choice, Pumpkin! Sweet little bar, unbelievably delicious food, wonderful service, and the view, holy cow, the view is incredible. Our waiter was filling us in on the place and its happenings and mentioned the Pagoda Bar and Farmer's Market were closed for the, get this - winter season - they're so adorable here. And, that's when it hit me...I get to go back there in the spring. Or next week even! I'm not on vacation. I live here. Wow! I haven't quite wrapped my head around that yet.

Today, I'm heading to my friend, Vida's, pool party at her home in Palm Springs. Yep, if you live in Palm Springs, you get to have a pool party in October! First time in Palm Springs.

Life is full of firsts. Not all of them good ones, but keep an eye out for them anyway. Even if just to say to yourself, "hey, that was new. cool". Seconds and thirds and fourths are good too of course, but there's just something about a first, you know?

In the Eye of the Beholder

Got lots of "moving in" stuff done yesterday. Spent most of the day bed shopping and eventually bed buying. Not the one I wanted, but it'll do just fine. My shoe boxes fit under it, so it's got that going for it. The one thing that makes any place feel like a home to me though is hanging art. I think I could have moved to Cali with only my clothes, shoes, and art, and been perfectly happy. I guess there are probably a couple things I "need" in a couple of the other boxes, but honestly, I could also probably live without them. I mean I still have unpacked boxes in my Mom's attic from my move back to Baltimore from NYC in 1995!

Getting art on the walls though, it's just a great feeling. My friend, Pumpkin, is a tiny bit homeless right now, but just found himself a cool little spot to call his own for the next couple of months, and he was making yet another trip to his storage unit to pick up of all things, art. It's just not your home if your paintings, and prints, and drawings, and sculptures, and rocks aren't right there in front of you to gaze at and enjoy any time you feel like it.

I had a good night's sleep in my new bed. The LA heatwave has broken and we're back to the typically beautiful 72 degree weather. When I woke up this morning, my art was right there waiting for me. And tonight, I get to take Pumpkin, one of my most favorite people in the entire world, out to dinner for his birthday. In Hollywood. And I'm not on vacation. I think I'll run out right now and buy some fresh cut flowers.

Here In My Car

Spent some quantity time on a few LA freeways today. Californians are not kidding when they tell you the freeways are crazy here. First, there are a LOT of them and the number names are just too damn similar! There's the 110, the 210, the 710, and the plain old 10, and then we've got the 5, the 405, and the 605. And I guess just because they needed more with ones and zeros, the popular 1, and the 101. And those are just the tip of the freeway iceberg. There are a lot of numbers out there highway engineering people and all at your roadway numbering disposal. Would using a few more of them have made navigating the LA freeway system any more difficult? Then there are the Daytona 500 speeds. I guess because they're at a dead stop some of the time (sometimes, most of the time) when cars are actually moving, they are s-e-r-i-o-u-s-l-y speeding. Now I've gotten my fair share, and probably some of your share too, of speed camera tickets in the last couple of years, but California drivers are zooming past me like I'm Sunday afternoon and they are Monday morning and way late for work. Add to that the sheer volume of automobiles and the road designs, those freeways are snaking in and around desert mountains after all, and you've got yourself one hella stressful commute.

Here's the thing though, you're stuck in traffic sure, but it's a beautiful day, your windows are down, your sunroof is open, your tunes are blaring, and when you get home, you get to jump in your pool.

As calm friend said ever so calmly, just make sure you've got a full tank of gas, a snack in the car, and used the restroom before you left.

A Picture is Still Worth a Thousand Words

There's a great attitude toward dogs in southern California. Maybe it's in all of California, but I can't speak for the other parts. Honestly, I can't even speak for southern California, I've been here three days. But in the places I've been, in three days, I've noticed an almost European attitude in regards to their dogs. Today, spent the afternoon at a dog-friendly beach. I was with a dog, so it was okay. It was a beautiful day today. Shocking I know because it's southern California and all, but it was a really good day for the beach. Again, shocking. Doesn't that sound like just one of the nicest ways to spend an afternoon though, chillaxin' at the beach with your favorite canine pal? Thing is, it really was. This particular dog beach is also really popular with surfers. Surfers with dogs. Enter Chet 'n Betty. Chet's the surfer. Betty is his dog. Betty is a mastiff/boxer mix. Betty is a big dog. She was also a muzzled dog. Maybe the size and the muzzle go hand in hand, I don't know. She seemed friendly enough though, but I wasn't about to get on her wrong side anyway. My dog pal was flirting it up pretty good with Betty, who is about ten times his size. He was undeterred. Even the muzzle didn't bother him. He and I chatted with Chet 'n Betty for a good while in dog beach time. Chet is a cartoon of a California surfer dude. And I mean that in the absolutely most loving way. Young. Blonde. Tan. Totally chill. He was stoked to meet us, me and my canine pal, and apparently we are completely rad. I couldn't have liked Chet 'n Betty more and I am totally bumming that I didn't take a photo of them. Add them to the ever growing list of people, places, and things I didn't stop and photograph.

This is a lesson I should have learned a very long time ago. Twelve or thirteen years ago actually -- driving cross-country with bff Karen, wide open Montana field brimming with roaming buffalo, she or I "do you wanna stop and take a photo", whoever didn't ask the question "nah, we'll stop at the next wide open field of roaming buffalo". I think you know where this is going. Not a single buffalo to be had for the rest of our journey across this great land of ours.

SO many things I wish I had stopped to photograph on this cross-country trip: my car loaded with all my worldly possessions; the changing leaves in West Virginia; the horses in Kentucky; the god-awful billboards in Missouri; the cows in Oklahoma, countless things in Texas - the dead armadillo on the side of the road, the hitchhiker, the "Jesus Christ is Our Lord and Savior Not a Curse Word" rest stop, the "Drive Friendly" sign, the Magritte sky; the mesas in New Mexico; the Jackrabbit Road sign in Arizona; Lloyd Dobler; the "Welcome to California" sign; every single "Welcome to insert state name here" sign; every single sunset; the flock of pelicans that flew a mere ten feet over my head and the dead sea bass the size of a grown man that washed up on the dog beach today!

I think my dog pal and I will hit up the dog beach again one day soon. And maybe we'll get lucky and run into Chet 'n Betty. Fingers crossed.