Time to Write

Starting tomorrow, this is where I am writing my next book: In the "She Shed" on the property where we are housesitting in Northern California.

We've been on a kind of housesitting binge lately: end of the year in the Pacific Northwest, Tahoe, and Palm Springs--punctuated by visits to friends and family all over.

Palm Springs hike

And then for the 40th reunion shows of Dave's favorite band (The Radiators), we flew to New Orleans. God I love that town: the food, the music, the colorful houses, the life-is-right-here-right-now vibe.

Krazy krewe in NOLA.

When we came back to California, I had the sorrowful honor of officiating at a memorial. Thi Aracelli, daughter of my friends Daisy and Tung, didn't make it into the world. The anguish goes deep. I was grateful to be in the Bay Area to offer my love and support.

With Stephanie and Daisy, and Daisy's son Luc

In the midst of all of this, my new book of poems, Target, was released. Like my memoir, it explores heartbreak and healing--while performing the time-and-space magic of poetry.

There's even a poem about housesitting in here.

The evocative art on the cover is by my longtime friend Nancy. I was lucky to spend time with her in LA. on our recent swing through and fell in love with her new Art You Can Color book.

Coloring like the kids we were when we met.

It's been six months since we left China. And during that time we have not been in one place longer than three weeks. That's a lot, even for us nomads. Now we have two-and-a-half months in a house nestled in 41 acres. We are treating it like a retreat: time for yoga, meditation, healthy eating, hiking, studying languages (me, Spanish; Dave, German), and music (me, playing the ukulele; Dave singing along). And giving lots of love to Gracie, our golden companion.

Gracie in the house.

As I write this, I hear frogs singing in the pond, in chorus with the crickets. A mass of stars is emerging. Savory smells are drifting over from the kitchen where my love is cooking us dinner. I feel the rhythms of life shifting. I feel a book coming on.

L.A. and the Mysteries

We've been to L.A. a lot. But not this L.A.

 

For almost a month now, we've enjoyed a housesit in Rancho Palos Verdes, a suburb in the hills above the Pacific. The house is on a bluff overlooking the ocean.

Amazing sunsets every night.

Usually when we come to So Cal we stay with friends and hang out in their neighborhoods. But on a housesit last year in West Hollywood, and this one, we've been able to explore pockets of L.A. we barely knew existed. And our friends have been coming to us.

Dave and Debbi hiking down the nearby coastal trail.



Brent and Jude jamming.

The Canon family, with smiley Miles.

Biking Santa Monica with the Kostenuiks, who met us half-way.

 

 In addition to hanging out with Kozmo and Kalvin...

  ...we've done a lot of outdoor stuff.

R.A.T. Beach (Right After Torrance)

We enjoyed a day at R.A.T. beach. We loved hiking down the steep cliffs to Abalone Cove (an ecological reserve), where at low tide you can check out tide pools. Several times we hiked the ocean trails near Trump National Golf Course, where public access to the bluffs has been preserved. And we rode our bikes along the strand from Redondo Beach to El Segundo--a wonderful multi-use path that takes you along the ocean for miles. We fell in love with Hermosa Beach and Manhattan Beach, two communities with seaside charm.

The Strand

Yesterday added an exclamation point to the sentence, "September was a great month!" My best friend since high school threw me an incredible book reading, a celebration of Call It Wonder. The turnout was fantastic, and the audience very engaged.



Shadowed by a picture of Nancy and me taken 35 years ago (with Norma).

 That was my first of other upcoming events, including:

* Reading at Columbia College, Sonora, CA on Friday, Oct. 16, 3:30 p.m.
* Reading at Sonora Joe's, Sonora, CA on Friday, Oct. 16, 7 p.m.
* Workshop at Tuolumne County Arts Alliance on Saturday, Oct. 17, 9-12 p.m.
* Reading at San Jose State on Thursday, Nov. 12, 7 p.m.

The title of the workshop is "How to Believe in Your Writing." I feel like, at age 52, I'm finally getting a handle on this--deeply knowing and appreciating that I am a creative creature who has every right to create what I want and get it out there how I want, no apologies or explanations. We all have this right.

Who knows where this crazy desire to make stuff comes from? It's one of the big mysteries. As we leave L.A. for our next adventure (three months all over Northern California), I have a familiar feeling of impermanence welling up inside, my pulse on another deeply mysterious truth: Life is change.

 

L.A. Living

Nomadic living is a life of contrasts. After housesitting for two months in a large, custom built house in a Pacific Northwest forest, we are now house- (or I should say apartment-) sitting smack-dab in West Hollywood. Instead of bird sounds and trees swaying in the wind, we hear sirens, car alarms and blaring rap. Instead of running two huge golden retrievers at the beach, we walk a sturdy little pug named Duke down city streets and on canyon hikes.

Runyon Canyon with Duke and L.A. skyline

After the slow life in a small town, we were both a bit rattled by the L.A. traffic and noise. But as usual, a few days in and we--adaptive creatures that we are--were buzzing around town by car and on foot, checking out quirky stores and restaurants, and letting everyone from children to homeless guys pet the adorable Duke, who is a people- and dog-magnet. 

Santa Monica Blvd.

Oh, and then there was Halloween. It just so happened that our stay here corresponded with one of the largest and craziest Halloween gatherings in the world. 500,000 people in elaborate costumes and six stages with bands. It was such a wild scene it felt like another planet. And all we had to do was fashion costumes from our scant suitcase belongings then mosey down the street.

Some of the tamer costumes.

Girls just wanna have fun!

Prior to our housesit, we stayed a weekend with L.A. friends and a week with other friends in Ventura County. We boogied down at two Raw Oyster Cult shows and a Phish show, surrounded by a  love-krewe.

Phish at the Forum

If this wasn't enough, we watched several World Series games with our friends' three boys (twins age 9 and a 7-year-old), all big Giants fans. And we saw the WIN at Barney's Beanery, an L.A. institution, which we walked to from the apartment.

L.A. has turned out to be a haven of connection. One of our friends just happened to be in town from Phoenix with her girlfriend who is Cambodian. We met in Chinatown--my first time there--and ate incredibly delicious and inexpensive Cambodian food, ordered by our resident expert. We then walked the streets and popped into some other food places to get super-cheap pork buns and baked goods to-go.

Five people, and we ate almost all of it!  (photo by Chhoun Chan Rasmey)

One evening we went to Suzanne Rico's house, the daughter of my beloved mentor and other-mother Gabriele Rico. She and her hubby made us a fabulous meal, and we enjoyed hanging out with them and their boys. Suzanne and I both have the wanderlust and writing genes, so we had a lot to talk about.

Suzanne's son Ado checking out the treats from a West Hollywood Russian bakery.

Then this morning my longtime friend and her husband revved up the Maserati (another first for me!) and drove us to Santa Monica for breakfast at Patrick's Roadhouse--a super-charming place where we ate phat food on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

All of this feels like a kind of extended bon voyage since in a week we will be driving down to our new pad in Baja. Every day is the turning of a page. A new chapter awaits.

Home is Here

Mark and Dave biking in Zion.

Last night as we sat under the stars in Zion, a friend asked:

"What's it like to live without a house? When I'm on a trip, I love traveling, but I always reach a point where I look forward to going home. Then I enjoy being back in my familiar surroundings, involved in my rituals."

I turned to Dave, curious how he'd answer. He talked about the mindset of living on the road. We didn't leave with the expectation that we'd return. So it's about being at home wherever we are.

In our year on the road, whenever I feel that yearning for "home," I get curious about it. What, exactly, am I wanting? A sense of peace, perhaps. So I can provide that to myself wherever we are--by getting still, by breathing, by feeling my body from the inside out. That might involve sprawling on the couch, listening to music, taking a mindful walk, meditating--or eating popcorn! It's up to me to soothe myself. It's up to me to, as Dave said, be at home wherever I am.

Hanging out with friends old and new in the Virgin River.

It also means embracing life as a journey. We aren't on vacation. We aren't driven to see and experience all the highlights of wherever we are. We enjoy our surroundings best by exploring new places without worrying about "missing something"--and we balance activity with downtime. The journey is the point.

Right now we are in Zion, Utah in a house with almost twenty people spread over three generations. Mark, a longtime friend of Dave's, leased a place for a week and invited us. He said there might be some others--but we hadn't realized we were walking into the open arms of a family reunion! I feel like we are at camp. In just three days, we've bonded with this awesome group by exploring the amazing national park, cooking, and talking and laughing for hours. Last night was a big dance party late into the night. We cleared the living room of furniture, and Mark--who's a DJ--played the music, complete with laser lights!

Once again, connections with people and nature have become central to our lives.

Before coming to Zion, we spent some time in the L.A. area with friends.

Huck Finn Bluegrass Jubilee

 

With Jude, Melissa and Reggie

With Ricardo, Dave's friend since the 1980s--and Cecelia and Charlie

Paul and the boys

All this socializing was punctuated by some time with just the two of us in Big Bear. We rented a great cabin on Airbnb.

I'd never before been on a ski lift in the summer, but we took it up, with our bikes dangling on the chair in front of us.

Then we rode down the mountain!

(and sometimes walked )

We also visited the Big Bear Alpine Zoo, which rescues and rehabilitates wild animals. It was incredible to be so close to a grizzly...

and a mountain lion.

We also stopped in Sedona for a few days, where we stayed at another Airbnb place and hiked to the four reputed vortexes.
 

They are beautiful spots. But I didn't feel more "vortexy" there. Just another reminder that spiritual energy--like home--is there for you whenever you want it.

"Let Your Soul and Spirit Fly..."

Last time we were in L.A., Dave got to test drive our friend Andy's Maserati.  This time, I drove the new BMW of our friend Jude.

Melissa and Jude, and his bro Brent

Cars are like citizens here.  They have their own personalities.  The BMW propelled itself down the road, smiling slickly at the Escalades, Jaguars, and the occasional Honda.  

I was driving the car because we dropped Jude and Melissa off at the airport.  They are generously letting us stay two days at their place while they're off to the East Coast. 

Marina del Rey

But first we spent a wonderful Thai-take-out-and-wine evening with them.  And we watched the video of our Australian friend Mark playing the piano.  

Jude was impressed with the love and commitment it takes to play with such skill and emotion.  It inspired him to take out his guitar.  As he often does, he played his sweetly gravelly rendition of my favorite song:  "Into the Mystic."

Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic 

And when that fog horn blows 
I will be coming home
And when the fog horn blows 
I want to hear it
I don't have to fear it

Sea air drifted in through the open sliding glass door, the ocean ambiance reflecting this mariner song.  And suddenly I realized the lyrics were speaking to me about my friend and mentor, Gabriele Rico.  It would have been her 76th birthday that day. I'd just read an incredible piece by her daughter about how as she was dying, Gabriele said she was experiencing an "awakening." And that she felt no fear. (I want to hear it, I don't have to fear it...)

These thoughts still resonated with me today as Dave and I rode bikes through Venice Beach to Santa Monica.  

I was thinking about how living isn't possible without dying.  And while we're alive, shouldn't we let our soul and spirit fly?  

Isn't it all about being in this moment?

I thought about how often we humans wriggle out of the present by drumming up thoughts about the past, by worrying about the future, and by harshly judging ourselves and others.

I wondered if riding a bike had any meaning--if that moment in life was really just about pushing my feet onto the pedals to move the bike forward and feeling the sun and sea air on my skin.  

I thought:  Is this really enough?  If I'm not going back to teaching, or raising kids, or going to therapy, or introducing bills to Congress...does my life have purpose?  Do we have to have purpose--other than to let our soul and spirit fly? 

Venice Beach

Later, as Dave and I soaked in the pool and jacuzzi, I also soaked in thoughts of the abundance of loving friends and shiny cars and blue water and vast stretches of white sand, and wacky, colorful Venice Beach characters.  

And I realized that on our journey of giving up home and job to travel the world, I'm digging around into this seemingly banal but bottom-line question:  What is life about, after all?

And I'm learning more deeply about what it means not to do, or to have, but to be.

Writing on the patio.

"God is at home. It is we who have gone for a walk." - Meister Eckhart

Polaris

You know you're not in Australia anymore when you look up to the night sky and see the north star. Polaris can't be seen in the southern hemisphere--a fact that Dave reminded me of as we sat in our L.A. friends' backyard jacuzzi.

We're in L.A. after the sci-fi event of leaving Brisbane on Tuesday morning and--after a long, full day of travel--arriving in California on the same day.

When I checked in as "at the L.A. airport" on Facebook, people chimed in, "Welcome home!"

And I wonder:  Are we home?

When you don't have a house, where is home?

We've been living a traveling life for just over a month now. In the past when I felt a tinge of home-sickness while on the road, I could think of my house, which would grant me a sense of comfort, of grounding.  Now I must think of my inner home for that same feeling.

So perhaps I'm learning in deeper and deeper ways that home is truly inside.  It's a vast home.  It's the north star of the heart.