We rolled into town late yesterday evening and started looking for a hotel. I don’t believe in making reservations. I want to see and feel whats the what before I commit and then I want to think it to death and have someone else make the decision and then second guess them and then go to sleep. It’s worked great so far, especially because the Monk loves making decisions based on some mathematical formula he devises on the spot.
Yesterday the decision was easy. The place we settled on had no cars in the parking lot and as we were rolling through I noticed three very unsavory looking characters walking towards the entrance of the hotel, one walking towards our car making some hand gesture.  I didn’t have to second guess myself on that decision, wondering if the poor man was only asking for food or directions, the Monk backed my play.

The Monk receives Buddhist icons from his congregation. When any congregant dies, their families bring them to the temple for the Monks to “release”.  You don’t just throw them away.  So the Monk is “releasing” them. He brought three or four with him and wants to leave one in each state. So yesterday while looking for and not finding the Grand Canyon, we released one (a beautiful Quan Yin) in some BLM land just outside Walnut Canyon National Park. There were cliff dwellings you could actually hike to! We didn’t, unfortunately,  but we did go to the museum and learned that these Indians did to their environment what we’re doing to ours. Depleting it until there is nothing left and then you have to leave and then you die.

That is not a gas can! It’s the bag he carried the Quan Yin in. He found a beautiful spot in a tree. She looked luminous gazing out at the forest. I couldn’t get a good picture of her.

We press on today to Taos.

Fine dining in Arizona.

We arrived in Kingman, AZ late yesterday evening after a long day’s drive from LA.
Had a lovely breakfast with my gracious cousins and then hit the road. It’s the Monk’s first time in AZ and he is very attentive and appreciative of the landscape. All those endless miles of nothing but desert as far as your eye can see. I was road drunk when we finally sat down to a meal at the only place we could agree upon. Cracker Barrel.
OMG
I have never been to a Cracker Barrel and when we parked and saw all the rocking chairs on the wide porch the Monk remembered his last experience at a Cracker Barrel in North Carolina where he went with his Hindu Indian friend and a Christian friend of hers. After the meal the Christian friend confessed to feeling a deep sadness because the Monk and her Indian friend were going to burn in hell because neither of them had accepted Jesus Christ as their savior. The Indian friend asked her if all the Aids work the Monk did in Africa, all the hundreds of people he has saved and helped if that counted for nothing and the Christian friend said, nope, he’s still going to hell.
There you have it.
The Cracker Barrel. First off, everywhere I go with the Monk we get stared at as if we were the strangest things to crawl out of some hole anyone has ever seen. He’s 6 feet tall, 200 lbs give or take, and dressed in long gold robes. Mostly people just stare but occasionally some brave soul strikes up a conversation. Like yesterday while on line at a supermarket, the man behind us politely asked what religion he was. I like that.
Anyway, there wasn’t anyone gonna ask at the Cracker Barrel. I’ve never been anywhere so straight up and down white America before. I could feel every eye on us, a hush came over that cavernous place as we walked to our table.  And the food. Oh dear. We’ve been in LA where my cousin is a freakin’ gourmet cook genius and when they took us out it was to farm to table places where the waiter tells you your chickens name and his ancestry. At the Cracker Barrel I’m pretty sure they can give you the sell by dates on the cans if you ask nicely. The Monk was thrilled with all of it of course, especially when they served him an extra root beer float for serving the first one in a broken glass and then a free dessert for giving us the wrong bill. It was the first dessert I’ve ever seen him unable to finish. He says he’s becoming a pussy in his old age.

It’s been one of those months. I’ll be happy to see the last of it. June conjures up sun and sprinklers over lush green lawns, gauzy summer dresses and refreshing beverages but the reality of June here is more gray wool, damp chilly winds and white skies. There are some blue skies scattered in between but for the most part…
It’s like that.
I’m looking forward to next month when I head east on a road trip with the Monk. Anything can happen.

Here it is. The French Fry Bush. The Quan Yin is out of focus so you can’t see her smile. I don’t know that I would be smiling if I had to sit and smell french fries all day but, she is the Bodhisattva of Compassion. French Fries, toddlers, babies, dancing bulldogs, all are welcome and loved and held in her loving embrace.

The little white blossoms turn into red berries in the fall. Anyone know this bush?

I am road weary. I have traveled all of California looking for a vehicle. I have become a Craigslist Connoisseur.  I have come so close but one thing and then another, has blown the deal. I am starting to worry.  Time is running out. If I have to settle for something less than perfect, I won’t have much time to work on it before the Monk arrives at the end of June. I go between feeling the right one will present itself and feeling like I should just take the one in front of me now that is less than.

I don’t know.

I am taking the day off of looking. I spent the morning with the cute baby.  I had Pandora tuned to the Opera station and held him so he could gaze at the quilt that hangs on the wall and which makes his eyes go all bright and shiny. He stares and goes into a trance.  He’s grown quite large, he now has more than one chin, but look at how dapper he is!

He was so entranced by the music and the quilt that he let me finish my book, The Queen’s Gambit by Walter Tevis. I don’t remember where I got this title but wherever it was, I thank you.  A wonderful read.
And Thank You fat little baby!

The French Fry bush is in full bloom. The wind blows through and scatters the tiny white blossoms on my head and arms and feet as I practice my yoga. Lu joined me this morning and did her yoga, a  s l o w dance around the perimeter of the deck, her back festooned with French Fry blossoms.

The lair is a holy place, that smells like french fries.

It’s 94 degrees and I’m drinking a nice hot cup of Gundpowder green tea. Since last we spoke, I have become a tea drinker. Still having my morning cup of Get Up And Go coffee but then it’s tea for the rest of the day. And not that weak sauce tea in a bag stuff. I’ve discovered the wonderful world of loose leaf teas sold in the bulk section of Foods for the Rich health food store. Special blend Earl Grey, Darjeeling, a white tea with lavender blossoms, a black tea with ginger and lemon. I have a beautiful iron tea pot with infuser I bought ages ago and never used and it survived The GreaT Purge because of it’s beauty and because it looked pretty in the window sill and there are some things, like the pig from a previous post and this little bear that tug at my heart in an undeniable way. These things won’t quit me. Or I them.

This, like everything else will pass.

The sun finally showed up hot and shiny. We’re having a heat wave and that means it’s up in the high 80’s and we’re all sweaty and lethargic. I sold my beloved Viejo and am on the hunt for my next vehicle. I know! I can’t control me. My next adventure will be with the Monk. We will be driving to “sort out” his land somewhere in Colorado.

There is a wonderful story about one of his many projects here.

Namaste.

Mother, Father and beautiful baby boy are all doing swell. Grandmother and big brother? We snuggled up on the sofa and watched tv until his little head slumped to one side and his breath became a quiet snuffle.

 What a day.

There is a soft warm halo around everything. The world feels fresh, the sky clean, the earth glimmering, my heart as swollen and tender with love as it has ever been. Welcome baby Ryland. Welcome to your life.

It is, and has been, relentlessly gray and cool and I am ready for some blue sky and warm sun and ripe pears. The stupid SUPER market here in town doesn’t have ripe pears. Ever.

I wait.

Tiny living fits me. We are still in the process of building……..moving………purging. My daughter is about to deliver her baby into the light of this world and she is nesting like a BIG mama magpie. We are going through a lifetime’s worth of stuff. Discovering things like the plastic light up stars that we used to create constellations on the ceiling of her room when she was a child. A room her child is now sleeping in.

While I have been ruthlessly donating most of the stuff I have found, there are some things, silly things I can’t part with. The pig on the window sill, for example.

The pig stays.

I’m not fooling around this time.  Seriously. I got rid of more than half my clothes AND I’m not done yet. I am considering a uniform, religious garb of some kind. Once I get my religion right. I’m still working on that. I will have three or four “sets”. One on, one off, one in the wash and an extra for emergencies.
Stay tuned.
We moved from our little house (900 + square feet) to a tinier “house” ( 210 square feet).  What I didn’t give to the Goodwill I gave to my daughter who now lives in the “big” house with her family. Everyone is happier with this arrangement. Tearful built us a loft bed and is building us a bath house and dressing room area. He’s amazing once he gets going. Says he doesn’t know how to build things yet he has been building things for years. Including our new home. I’ll say something like, “we need a …” and he will almost always say it can’t be done and then he goes and does it. Just like that.
So, living small. It works beautifully. Everything has a place and there are no unnecessary things. I’m loving it. It makes me feel…calm.

I’m having one of those days. A glance in the mirror reflected this face back to me.  Is no one else alarmed?

I planted spinach and broccoli rabe because I had some seeds. I put the pot inside on the windowsill in the laundry room so no critters can interfere and I can easily mist the soil. It is a hopeful act.

Since I’ve been home I donated more than half of all my clothes to the Goodwill, where most of them came from. Making ready for a move. Again.

My daughter had her baby’s picture took this morning. He weighs roughly 5 lbs. She looks like she’s ready.

If someone would poke out the eyes of the hawks
We sparrows could dance wherever we please!

~Han Shan

Another night of fierce wind. And cold. When it was still blowing this morning I decided to leave the lake and head for the river. El Viejo handled the steep and windy drive north just fine. I found a quiet spot and set out my mat and stood on my head and twisted and let the sun and earth soak into me and it was…glorious. Got all the kinks out, made me smooth. Drove on to another spot even closer to the river where I settled in to charge my solar panel and cook my lunch. French lentils with stir fried asparagus and whole wheat naan. Bread you can make in a skillet! Sat by the river and listened. You know what I heard? An old Pretender’s song I cannot remember the title of or the lyrics, just the tune. The river was singing it to me. I sat and listened and a squirrel approached. I shooed him away but he wasn’t having it. He’d make believe he was leaving but then come back, each time getting closer.  He was stalking me.  A terrorist squirrel.

I can’t blame my paranoia on being married to a cop all these years. I came this way already assembled. I am by nature a suspicious person so this being out in the natural world by myself is a Grand Opening. I am opening the doors and asking my fears to leave quietly. Some of them are stubborn so I am looking for ways to convince them to go.  It’s a tricky business.

PS! The song was NOT a Pretenders song, it was Annie Lennox. I never knew the title of that song. It’s
Cold. Great lyrics and melody.
Thank you Kern River.

I spent last night here by Lake Isabella. Isn’t she pretty? It was a rocky night. The wind blew strong all night long and rocked me to sleep. I am not a fan of the wind so I practiced listening to it instead of being annoyed. It was a chorus of voices, the cheer of a crowd, the deep rumble of a train.
This morning is beautiful. Today I will practice just being here.
Namaste.