Then went to see Dawn of the Planet of the Apes because it’s sci fi and the monk loves his sci fi and I didn’t want to see Earth to Echo though after seeing DOTPOTA, I’m not so sure I made the right choice. DOTPOTA had your bad apes, your dumb drunk idiots, your good guys and one good girl, your one really good hearted ape, guns, shooting, swinging through trees, chimps wearing jewelry, and San Francisco in ruins. In 3 D.  Wear protective ear wear if you go see it.

After that we went to the Denver Botanical Garden which is probably the prettiest Botanical Garden I’ve ever been to. There was/is a Dale Chihuly exhibit which was surprising and beautiful. I’m not a big fan of glass art but I’m a big fan of gardens and his work adds a playful magic to this garden.

There’s more of this madness on my Instagram if you’re so inclined.

Denver is where Joyce lives and where we have been staying. She lives in a wonderful old apartment complete with milk chute (!) and  filled with collections of art everywhere your eye lands.  She’s fun and funny and gracious. I feel so lucky and grateful to be here.

I will be leaving tomorrow, heading back home on my own while the Monk flies back to NY.  I am missing my little gang and looking forward to smushing baby cheeks.

This morning we are at the Great Sand Dunes National Park right at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, just off the Cosmic Highway. Though the Monk has given it his best shot, the aliens have not seen fit to take him at this time.

Last night we hiked down to the creek at the base of the Dunes to watch as the sunset painted the sky and dunes all shades of pinks and blues and grays. It was glorious. Being elderly, tired and ill prepared, we didn’t venture up and into the Dunes but there were plenty of people heading up and disappearing into the dark. We didn’t see anyone come out. The Monk thought maybe there was a giant toad on the other side of the Dunes flicking them up into his mouth with his sticky tongue.

Yesterday we drove up to Crestone a small town right at the foot of the Mountains.  One road into the town and out. I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode with a really good restaurant called Bliss. There were some interesting  looking characters wandering around.  One reason I wanted to go there was because of the amazing patchwork like rocks I’d seen at Tizia and Paul’s labyrinth in Taos. They’re known as conglomerates and I found one right on the street in town. I also discovered there are about 30 spiritual retreat centers in and around the town. You can come and get so spiritually creamy you probably wouldn’t even notice winter settling in or you would and you would love it. I am pretty sure I would not.

Joyce, a friend of the Monk’s has now joined the party and it’s been great fun being with her.  She has a place in Denver and that’s where we are heading today. I’ll stay a few days there with them and then start my journey home. I am missing those babies and Mr Weepy.

I have seen some outstanding sunsets where I live and in Hawaii but last night’s was beyond any I’ve seen before. No camera I have could capture the colors in that sky. The wind suddenly whipped up and my hands were shaking so badly the photo is a bit blurry but here it is anyway. That’s a labyrinth to the right and in front of where the monk sat hoping to be beamed up by aliens.

Lucky for me, they didn’t see fit to take him last night. He makes for such a great traveling companion. Funny, awake and always ready with a story. He chanted almost all the way from Gallup to Taos.

My deepest Thanks and Gratitude to Tizia and Paul for being so welcoming and sharing their magical place with us. May their work and blessings continue and grow and may I be lucky enough to visit again.

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.