Tuesday, June 15, 2021

Hawaii Time...and Time to Move On

Geckos noshing on bananas on the lanai

We leave the Big Island tomorrow, and there's that feeling again. The one that always accompanies moving on. A bittersweet heightened awareness of what we've been living, and what we're leaving behind--combined with excitement about what's to come. 

It feels like living in a tree house.

We've spent two months housesitting in Leilani Estates. The home, the neighborhood, the animals, the yard--it's now all so familiar. Homey. The little town, Pahoa, has become the place we go to for tasty, authentic Vietnamese food (at Pho 19) and coconut-based ice cream that just happens to be vegan (at Nicoco).

Jamie & Chris, the homeowners, bought all this beautiful food for us!

As slow travelers, we're always growing roots and then...uprooting. Eight years ago when we started living this way, I'd thought that launching out into the world was "leaving home." Now it seems we "leave home" over and over again.

Dutch and Billy

Home here means Duke, a big lug of love. And two funny cats, Billy and Bosco. It means hanging out in this beautiful space doing the usual: cooking, reading, yoga, laundry. Dave killed it with the yard work, buzzing around on the riding lawn mower, cleaning the pool, picking papayas and bananas. 

Dave in one section of the house's beautiful & vast yard

I was on shovel-the-poop duty (yes, this is a glamorous life), worked on my writing/editing and Spanish--and I met up with a group of neighborhood women for morning walks. 

We played for 3 hours!

Turned out, those women played ukuleles, so we had a jam session here on the lanai. We also met up with a number of friends. Seems like lots of people we know or had met online either lived here or happened to be passing through.

With Mayra & Carol...just a few weeks after hanging out with them in Utah!

The Puna area of Hawaii is a dramatic place of extremes. Three years ago, Kilauea erupted spilling lava over hundreds of homes--some just a block away. Steam from the vents still drifts to the sky. Sometimes we feel a sleepiness take over, the volcanic gasses acting on us like Oz's poppy field on Dorothy.

Lava flow over the road

We walked on the 2018 flow with Babette & Rich,
the couple we housesat for on this island two years ago.

Green-drenched rainforest butts up against a moonscape of black lava. You'll be walking in the sun then hear a roaring sound in the distance: it's rain approaching, and in minutes it's pouring buckets. The air will be still and warm one minute, and the next wind whips up, pulling fronds off the palms. Birds call out in beautiful, eerie whistles and song, and cane frogs in the dozens pop out onto the driveway every evening. At night the lullaby is a shrilling cricket-like chorus of coqui frogs.

While living in this eccentric land, we celebrated Dave's birthday, walking through the incredible Tropical Botanical Garden in Hilo and eating great vegan food at the Booch Bar. The kombucha on tap is divine.

We hiked on two volcanos (Kiluaua and Mauna Loa), walked across black sand beaches and through parks and into lava tubes, saw rainbows and waterfalls and lava trees, and took leisurely drives just to gaze at all the beauty. 

Cape Kumuhaki black sand beach...about a 4 mile hike.
We were the only ones there.

Hiking Muana Loa

Kaumana Caves

Kalakaua Park

Hiking Kilauea Iki

Rainbow Falls

Saturdays we enjoyed the Kalapana Farmer's Market for its relaxed, happy people and its great vegan food, serenaded by a guy on a guitar playing Hawaiian music. This is the spot of the famous Uncle Roberts, where we enjoyed live music one evening in the open-air venue. Hawaii had just relaxed its mask requirements that day. It was sweet to see everyone's smiling faces.

Kalapana rainbow

As usual, this housesit has been emblematic of our lives: explorers who are "home" wherever we happen to be. This house, by the way, used to be owned by the parents of Guenther Fraulob, Rock Hudson's lover. There are pictures of them here. They remind me as we get ready to leave that impermanence is life.

Monday, February 15, 2021

Our Nomadic Winter

The body's ability to heal continues to amaze me. Four months after falling in Mexico and severely spraining my ankle and foot--and not being able to put weight on it for a long time--I was able to do this:

skiing Brighton, Utah

It was the first time in three years we were on the slopes. Initially, I was scared. I'm envious of those who are totally at ease downhill skiing. (I didn't learn to ski until my late 40s.) But after two or three runs, I was reminded why I love it. 

It's an invigorating contrast to be in the cold mountains after having spent 10 months in Mexico. 

lunch stop during our 5-day Baja-to-California drive

We'd had mixed feelings about traveling during the time of the pandemic, but we'd already accepted a housesit. Also, the clock on our visas was ticking (even though we'd extended them once). To our pleasant surprise, it was pretty easy to go where we needed to and keep relatively safe.

San Ignacio springs

We left in November to drive up Baja. We've done the drive multiple times, but this was the first time we stopped at San Ignacio springs. And we are so glad we did. We stayed in a lovely little yurt and kayaked the peaceful springs, seeing all kinds of beautiful wildlife.

Instead of heading right to L.A., we spent a week in Palm Desert. Exploring Joshua Tree was the highlight.

Joshua trees in Joshua Tree National Park

The L.A. housessit was in a gorgeous home in Pacific Palisades. We did a quick  masked turnover with the owners. We'd hoped to be able to see our many friends in So Cal, but L.A. was on lockdown. Still, we were able to squeeze in a few socially-distanced outdoor visits.

Pacific Palisades housesit

visiting my longtime friend Nancy in L.A.

The physical therapy for my foot injury included beach strolls and easy hikes on some of the gorgeous nearby trails. We also spent time in the magical hot tub under the trees in the back yard, did yoga, spent time with Izzy, and read like the book maniacs we are. Goodreads reported that I read 74 books last year. Dave doesn't keep track, but I wouldn't be surprised if he read at least that many.  

Something else that took up my time was yet another medical issue that was painful and mysterious. After seeing a number of docs, I finally found one who quickly solved it. I'd assumed he was old school because he was at least in his 70s and his hearing wasn't so great. But I kicked myself for that judgment when his prescription of yoga, standing rather that sitting while writing, and cognitive adjustments WORKED! I was grateful for the reminder that advanced age can mean great wisdom. I thank him.

magic hot tub

Meanwhile, the homeowners decided to come back a week early, which would have been awkward for us if not for their thoughtful decision to pay for an Airbnb for us. We chose Los Osos on the central coast. I grew up in California but had never been to this sweet spot on the planet. It's dramatically beautiful.

Hiking in Montana del Oro on a high ridge overlooking the Pacific Ocean

One of Dave's great catches at Sweet Springs Nature Reserve in Los Osos

 Our little cottage was my favorite Airbnb ever.


The next week we spent with our friend Mark in San Jose. We all got tested and created a bubble. It was such a joy to be able to hang out together. We watched three nights of the Radiators streamed from New Orleans in an empty Tipitinas--a bittersweet experience since a few years ago we'd been there together to dance to them live with hundreds of others. When the world opens back up, I plan to go to as much live music as possible; I will never again take it for granted.

It was also great to be able to watch the inauguration together. I loved every minute of it...and was especially moved when Kamala Harris made history.

boogying at home

At one time we stored a bunch of stuff at Mark's, but on every visit we whittle it down. At this point, it's mainly our ski gear and winter stuff--which we took with us as we drove 11 hours straight to Sandy, Utah for our next housesit. 

Dave snowshoeing in Utah

We didn't meet the owners in person; we'd done a video walk-through with them, a young couple who were headed to Mexico to give birth to their baby. They also travel with their cat but not their bunny, so Bun Bun is our company, along with three chickens that live in a heated henhouse.

Bun bun is shy but likes to be petted and fed spinach.

In the midst of all of this, the novel I co-authored with my friend Mary Janelle Melvin under the pen name Mary-Kate Summers was released with a super sexy cover! I feel that our publisher really *got* the characters with this image. 

It was the first time I'd written a historically-based love story, something Janelle has been doing for years. I learned so much in the process and fell in love with the characters and the story. It's wonderful that we're already hearing from readers who feel the same.

I never imagined that the release of this book would coincide with an incredible event: 

While in the Bay Area, I'd been able to see my sister, Crystal. In the process of packing for her move to San Diego, she came across three manuscripts that my mom had been working on. One of them I remembered reading years ago and always wondered what had happened to it. It's a historical romance that takes place in California during the Gold Rush. I was beyond thrilled when I held it in my hands.

Mom editing

Reading it was a beautiful and bittersweet thing. Our mom, who died nine years ago, had dementia and didn't speak for the last year of her life. As I turned the pages, I wet them with my tears as I was reminded of her voice, her intelligence, her humor. 

And what timing. Not only had I just co-written my first historical romance, I'd recently had an incredible dream of her. And now here in my hands was my mom's book in that very genre. It is incomplete and needs work, but the bones of it are strong. 

I am in the process of doing a rewrite. When I came across an unnamed character, I named him William. In the next chapter I saw she'd given him the name...William.

So, she's here. Cheering me on. Cheering us on as we write together.  

Saturday, November 21, 2020

A Visit from Mom

Last night in my dream, I was browsing in a used bookstore and picked up Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the PortugueseI'd read it more than 30 years ago in grad school but had little memory of it. I thumbed through the pages and saw notes inside...written in my mother's hand!

My eyes shot open to the black night. I reached for my Kindle and downloaded the book. I knew there had to be a message in it from Mom, who died eight years ago.

Mom (Arlene), 1958

Mom, a school nurse, was an avid reader and later in life became a writer of articles and, eventually, romance novels. Our love of the literary profoundly connected us. She read everything I wrote, including my poetry, although poetry wasn't really her thing.

But I clearly sensed in this vivid dream that she had a message for me in this book of poems. Not just any poems, but those written by a woman she would have admired. Browning (1806-1861) was a prolific writer and social critic who condemned child labor and advocated for women's rights. 

Elizabeth Barrett Bronwing

Likewise, Mom supported the Equal Rights Amendment and was very active in her community, helping the poor and underserved. She said that the best self-treatment for sadness, depression, or regret was to help other people.

Helping others, fostered in her Catholic background, became her "religion" once she no longer believed in the church. While my father and I were drawn to spiritual explorations, she rejected it all as hocus-pocus. 

No surprised then, that after my dad died, I felt him come to me several times (which I've written about here and here). My mother, though, proved to be more elusive...until last night.

It wasn't only that I saw her handwriting in the book. I felt her presence. 

Sonnets form the Portuguese, published in 1850, is a collection of 44 love sonnets. They weren't really translated from the Portuguese, as the title suggests, but Browning titled it this to keep her privacy. She'd thought the poems were too personal to publish, but her husband insisted it was the best sonnet sequence since Shakespeare. The most well-known poem in the book starts, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."

I didn't remember that last night, though, when I opened the book at 3 a.m. My heart was pounding as I read the first poem, waiting to see what Mom had to say. 

The first sonnet starts with the speaker thinking of a Greek poet, Theocritus, who sings about the past, "the sweet years, the dear and wished for years." She begins to cry, thinking about all she has lost in life. (Browning had suffered deaths of many close to her, including her favorite brother.)

She then feels a "shadow across me," a "mystic shape" moving behind her. Eerily, it draws her "backward by the hair" and then speaks to her. It says: 

'Guess now who holds thee?'—'Death,' I said. But there,
The silver answer rang ... 'Not Death, but Love.'

I broke out in tears. There it was, my mother's message, plain as day, fittingly written in the pages of a book, since we so loved books. 

It isn't her death that holds me, but her love.

Mom and me

Friday, October 23, 2020

More Than Our Bodies

Sunset in Baja (photo by Dave)

Next to "It's benign" and "the margins are clear," hearing "it's not broken" is the freaking greatest news.

Two weeks ago I took a bad spill and messed up my ankle. Initial x-rays were inconclusive. I had no idea that sometimes a break won't show up for a week or two after a trauma. So...today I went back for another x-ray.

I was trying not to catastrophize. But we are supposed to take the long drive up Baja in two weeks to get to a housesit in California and I was wondering how that would work with a broken ankle...much less one that might need surgery.

Bizarrely, in the past days, THREE friends have fallen off their bikes and suffered compound arm fractures that required surgery.

I just keep reminding myself that a) the body knows how to heal, and b) we've faced a lot of surprises and unknowns in this nomadic life we live, and we're always able to figure things out.

My mantra has been LOVE on the in-breath and HEALING on the out-breath. One of my arm-healing friends said this helped her a lot, too. It's so soothing that I think I will continue to use it, especially to help me get to sleep. 

So today I went back for the second x-ray...and, yay, it's a bad sprain, not a break. Doc told me to start walking with the boot. I did immediately when I got home. It's like being half non-automated robot. But I'll take it.

My 50s have been quite a ride for my body, what with brain surgery (for a benign tumor), thyroid surgery (for a benign tumor that had initially been diagnosed as cancer), surgery on my leg to remove a squamous cell growth (clear margins), and now this.

In Still Here: Embracing Aging, Changing and Dying, Ram Dass talks about how if we live long enough, all of us face physical changes. This is an opportunity to learn we are "more than our bodies and our minds."

This decade has been teaching me this, it seems. 

Thursday, October 8, 2020

Angels Everywhere

Me today

I had a freak fall while walking to the beach and was in such extreme pain I couldn't put weight on my ankle to stand. Three strangers in a truck heard my call for help and drove over. The young woman hovered over me, lightly placing her hands on my leg and shoulder, which immediately made me less nauseous. I asked her if she's a healer. She said no, but one of the guys said, "She just might be."

Still, I was wailing in agony.

They helped me into the truck. I said to the driver, "This hurts worse than my brain surgery and thyroid surgery."

He said, "I just had a tumor removed from my chest two months ago. I still have some morphine pills they gave me. I have no idea why I brought them today...but I guess you were the reason."

He handed them to my neighbor Vivian who had appeared as the two guys helped me hop on my (thankfully strong) right leg into my house. Dave and our friend Art, who were doing yoga, jumped from their mats into action:

pain meds
love and kindness
reminders to breathe
reminders to accept the pain and let it flow by
checking if I could wiggle my toes (yes)

I reminded myself that I'm a good healer. And I activated my mantra, Something good will come from this.

I'm not big on morphine because it's addictive and causes bowel impactions, but damn, I wasn't going to say no at that moment. (It'll be ibuprofen from here on out.)

Art, a former college basketball player, talked me through similar injuries he's had. I was extremely uncomfortable on the couch so Art PICKED ME UP and carried me to my bed! Let me just say I'm not feather-light. His care almost teared me up.

Vivian brought me herbal tea and essential oils from our other neighbor, Chelle. Chelle's husband Kris gave us the ace bandage. Another neighbor, Julie, loaned me her crutches.

And of course Dave has been caring for me ever since.

Something good has come from this.
A reminder that angels are everywhere.
In human form.

Sunday, August 30, 2020

How to Write Freely (hint: Befriend Your Mind)


Years ago—via the work of Gabriele Rico, NatalieGoldberg, Anne Lamott, and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi—I learned about the right brain vs. left brain, the creator vs. the critic, the writing of the shitty first draft, the generative power of flow. These concepts helped me a lot as a writer. They helped me surrender to the stream (the dream, the trance) of writing. Writing unharnessed, I could feel my unconscious do its work. When I was in the flow, words poured onto the page; patterns and meanings emerged.

And yet there were competing voices. Voices that said writing is hard. Really, really hard. The boot camp voices: You must be disciplined. You must keep your butt in the seat. The existential voices: You have to open a vein and bleed on the page. You must kill your darlings. The masochist: If you don’t suffer, you’re doing it wrong. If you don’t sacrifice your life to your art, you are a poser.

These competing, contradictory voices fought inside me. As I result, I’d experience stretches of flow and confidence, followed by expanses of scarcity and deep doubt. I wrote numerous short pieces, but I stopped several books fifty pages in.

One day I came across a book called Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey. In his examination of the working lives of famous writers and artists from the 19th century to the present, I saw that the most prolific artists do work most days to take advantage of momentum. 

But not all day, every day. 

Generally three or four hours a day—with a day or two off a week. For many, more work than that becomes self-sabotaging, leading to burn-out. This four-hour pace is about creating a body of work, of living a sustainable life as an artist. Their focus is the process, not an attachment to the product. But what struck me the most was this: They adjust their thinking to their benefit.

While writing or painting or sculpting wasn’t always easy, many of these artists foster the attitude of Willa Cather, who said: 

“If I made a chore of it, my enthusiasm would die. I make an adventure of it every day.”

The word “adventure” popped off the page. Adventures can be arduous. They can have scary moments. But we love them! We choose them!

The book I wanted to write was, in part, about the adventure my husband and I embarked upon: leaving our jobs and home to live as nomads. It was a memoir about how life is an adventure. How we transformed when we stepped into the fertile void. Suddenly, the plot and the process of my project felt interlinked.

It had been six years since I’d written a book. The stakes felt high. I’d retired early in order to focus on my writing.

We were staying for four months at a house in Tahoe. The house had extra rooms, and groups of our friends would be coming and going. I decided that no matter what, I’d write two to four hours a day, with my earbuds in playing music to inspire me, to make it fun—and to block out the noise of all those people. When I took off the earbuds, I’d be living my balanced life: we’d talk, make food, go hiking and snow-shoeing.


The first day I sat to write, I turned on my computer and, with my hands on my lap, took a deep breath. Spontaneously, I closed my eyes, and listened to my inner voice say something like this:

I’m writing today because I choose it. It’s an adventure! It’s about allowing, not forcing. It’s about being curious and joyful. I am doing this because I love it. I’m willing to make a mess, like a finger-painting kid. I trust my instincts. My unconscious will guide me. I’m willing to get lost in the dream of writing.

I opened my eyes and was off and running. Every day, I closed my eyes and gave myself what I began to call a “Meditative Pep Talk.”

Never before had I written so prolifically. Words poured out like water. If I hit a speed bump, I’d close my eyes, breathe, and tap into thoughts served me best. Thoughts like, It’s okay to be unsure. It’s okay to not know. You’re doing this because you love it. You’re not suffering, you’re adventuring.

In four months, I wrote 160,000 words. That’s about five or six double-spaced pages a day.

When it came time to revise, I knew I’d have to cut. I decided I wasn’t killing my darlings; I was pulling weeds so the garden would thrive. Every day I appreciated how all those extraneous words were instrumental in forming the essential ones. I thought about Michelangelo, who said: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

I have a choice. I can believe my fears or I can believe my assurances. As though my process and my product wove together like a Moebius strip, I ended up titling my memoir: Call It Wonder, from OSHO who said: 

“Don’t call it uncertainty—call it wonder. 

Don’t call it insecurity—call it freedom.”

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

11 Books That Touched My Life

Many books have touched my life. These are a few that have helped me better understand who I am, why I’m here and what I’m capable of.

These books opened up worlds to me that I didn’t know existed. Eyes may be windows into the soul—but so are books.

1) Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh.

Harriet rides her bike around, peeking in on her quirky neighbors and writing about them. She likes to wear jeans and her dad’s blocky glasses frames. Her best friend, a boy named Scout, wears an apron when he cooks for his widowed father. I first read this book at age eight. When I re-read it 30 years later, I saw many things I care about contained in its pages: the love of traveling and writing, the rejection of gender straight-jackets and the fascination with how other people do this thing we call living.
Favorite quote: “Life is a great mystery. Is everybody a different person when they are with someone else?”

2) The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury.

In seventh grade, my science teacher read to us every Friday from this book about humans colonizing Mars. While I may not have grasped the social criticism, I was bowled over by the gripping writing and by how the stories offered deep insights into life. That a book could give me (existential) goosebumps helped me internalize the power of the written word.
Favorite quote: “Why life? Life was its own answer. Life was the propagation of more life and the living of as good a life as possible.”

3) Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.

I was in my twenties when I first encountered Whitman, whose work became my bible. He wrote about how we are connected to each other and all of nature, how the body is to be praised, how equality should be a given, and how what matters most is love in all its forms. His long, rhythmic lines crackle with life more than 150 years since they first appeared in print.
Favorite quote: “Do anything, but let it produce joy.”

4) Journal of Solitude by May Sarton.

At age 29, I sold everything I owned and moved alone to Japan to teach. There, I devoured all of Sarton’s soulful and insightful journals, starting with this one. I was spending a lot of time alone, and she helped me see how I didn’t have to be scared of solitude; alone, I could plumb my depths.
Favorite quote: “Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.”

5) Wild Mind: Living the Writers’ Life by Natalie Goldberg.

With her pragmatic, soulful wit, Goldberg helped me free my inner creator. As a young expat living in Japan, I tried out her writing methods and turned myself over to my dream of being a writer.
Favorite quote: “Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes everything is an emergency.”

6) When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chodron.

When I was going through a devastating divorce, a good friend gave me this book. My lifeline to sanity, Pema’s book was the start of my journey to better understand how to deal with suffering. I think I saved thousands of dollars in therapy bills by reading this book again and again.
Favorite quote: “If we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher.”

7) Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Life and Love from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed.

As I read this book, I found myself wishing over and over again I’d had it in my hands when I was younger. It just might have helped me change course—or at least be kinder to myself. Her advice and voice wrap their arms around you and help you stand up straight.
Favorite quote: “You will learn a lot about yourself if you stretch in the direction of goodness, of bigness, of kindness, of forgiveness, of emotional bravery. Be a warrior for love.”
The final four books fit in the category of “Badass Women.” All of these women overcame great odds to claim their power—and at some level, to change the world. These books ignited my inner flame so that I more deeply appreciated my freedom, my voice and my capacity to inspire and be inspired.

8) Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali.

In this memoir, a Somalian woman follows a harrowing and unlikely path and ultimately becomes a political figure in the Netherlands. In the face of death threats, she fearlessly champions free speech, women’s rights and the banning of female genital mutilation.
Favorite quote: “It takes a long time to dissolve the bars of a mental cage.” 

9) Champion of Choice: The Life and Legacy of Women’s Advocate Nafis Sadik by Cathleen Miller.

An incredibly inspirational example of a woman who has affected millions of lives. A Pakistani national, she bucked tradition and became a physician and eventually a leader of the U.N. population fund, fighting for women’s health and reproductive rights. Now in her 80s, she is still working to make the world a better place.
Favorite quote: “We must be courageous in speaking out on the issues that concern us… We will not allow ourselves to be silenced.”

10) She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders by Jennifer Finney Boylan.

With humor and intelligence, Boylan tells the poignant story of her transition from Jim to Jenny. As with all the other “badass women” books, I developed new understandings and deeper compassion reading this.
Favorite quote:As it turns out, we’re all still learning to be men, or women, all still learning to be ourselves.”

11) Half Broke Horses by Jeanette Walls.

This novel is based on the life of Jeanette’s extraordinary grandmother, Lila Casey Smith, who, at age 15, left home on a pony to ride 500 miles for a teaching job in a frontier town. She learned to fly a plane and ran a ranch in Arizona, surviving droughts, tornadoes, the Great Depression and personal tragedy. Like the other badass women, she stood up for the underdog and spoke out against injustice.
Favorite quote: “Nobody’s perfect. We’re all just one step up from the beasts and one step down from the angels.”
What’s a book that touched your life?

(This piece first appeared in Elephant Journal.)