Rain

Well, it's been raining again, and the crows are getting rowdy.  I'm happy today, which, though not generally rare, is a bit unfamiliar. The past few weeks have been full of effort and turmoil and deep deep contemplation and I must say I've taken a few emotional beatings and things got confusing, too.

There were some wondrous highlights for sure, though, in the past month, for which I am so grateful. Gifts amongst the tumult.  Like when I went on a weekend trip to Denver and everything about that was amazing and there was Van Gogh and The 9th Door and The Brown Palace and singing around the piano late into the night and so much love holding on to me and I forgot about everything that's been difficult and I could have almost just stayed there and not come back at all.  

And then, there was one week here after I got back that it rained and rained and then it was misty all morning one day and then it was all just thick heavy fog sometimes and then it kept raining.  That was likely the most serene I've ever seen LA.  It was almost too much to bear every day just how beautiful and quiet it was around here. I don't know.  Sometimes the world is just overflowing and speaking to me and I just want to grab it and squeeze it and say thank you thank you thank you!

So those things were good. But then there's been the shadow of my job, cast just so, just enough to darken the rest of the landscape.  And it was only recently that I decided to move on from it.  I'm leaving it, and I don't even know what I'm going to next and for some odd reason that doesn't scare me.  There was a time when it sure would have, though.  There was a time when all of the unknowns scared me, I guess.  Now I just know that I keep figuring it out anyway.  

Here's something I realized about myself.  I begin idealistic.  Because that, I will always be.  Then, if the actual circumstances don't match my image, I adjust my own response to them because that's the main thing I can control.  Like how I was faced with a long, taxing commute and poring over math equations.  So I created devices to make those things all right, shifted my thinking and found ways to enjoy those bastards.  I'm resilient, to be sure, and can endure a lot and make things good.  But there's a limit.  And then there's an urgency to come to my own rescue.  When it's just taking too much effort and my joy is starting to dim, well, that's when I have to call it a day and change the circumstances, because I'm practical too, even though I'm one hell of a dreamer. 

So here I sit.  And everything feels right.  And onward I continue.  And the shadow is lifting.  And the joy is brightening.  And the rains are coming again.

A Recipe in the Respite

Presumably, I'm taking a break.  Work has quite consumed me, which is not my preferred relationship with it, but for the time, it's got me.  There will be stories again, soon.  There will be.  But I've been wondering, was there more time before?  Oh, interesting world!  It's a good thing I love you so much.

So for now, I think I'll just offer my two-generations-old stuffing recipe, as Thanksgiving is on its way.  I usually add veggie sausage with the first sauteed ingredients, like for protein and texture, I guess.  I don't know if there's some meat substance that people usually use in stuffing, but if there is, you can use that instead.  

Gobble-Gobble Stuffing

4 tablespoons butter

1 cup celery, chopped

½ cup onion chopped

1 cup mushrooms, chopped

¾ cup walnuts, chopped

1 granny smith apple, chopped

2 cups of veggie broth (approximate)

Salt (if needed, veggie broth is often salty)

1 bag of stuffing breadcrumbs

Melt butter in a large pan. 
Sautee celery, onion and mushrooms until tender. 
Add walnuts and apple. 
Toss in breadcrumbs.

Separately bring broth to a boil. 
Ladle some broth on top of mix and stir. 
Add more broth if mix seems dry.

Cover and let stand 5-10 minutes to steam. 

Serve now or place into a casserole dish and bake at 375 until slightly toasted on top.

Enjoy!

Crows

It was an interesting week at the old job for me. The president of the company came through town and I had to give a presentation and prepare and be ready for tough business questions.  And I was.  And it was a good presentation.  Because I know my business, and I care about it.  But how strange that all was.  I just thought to myself, is this the same girl that used to march around the garden in gypsy clothes?  

Where did this adulthood come from?  How did it wrap itself around me, give its brief blessing and fling me into the world?

I sure don't know how I feel about this. 

Then again, I am always teetering on the threshold of not quite knowing how I feel about any of it anyway, the real world, and I constantly just have to gently nudge myself to the one side, the side that feels ok about it, and keep going.  

As for the presentation, I was about to get overwhelmed by it and I was sitting outside when I saw about fifteen crows circling above me and somehow it looked so important, I mean, in that way that shows you quiet divinity and the soft constant breath of life and that your'e a part of it.  I remembered some things then.  

That's when I decided that I wouldn't let my presentation stress me out and that I'd just enjoy it no matter what, because, as far as I know, it's no more significant than much else in the grand scheme.  And a lot less significant than most things.  In any case, I had to make it fun.  I know that if I can't make the real world joyful, then I don't want to do it at all.  Because the actual real world reminds me of that, sometimes by way of crows.

So I just enjoyed how bizarre it all seemed, being all serious.  And I kind of laughed a lot every day about how strange growing up is.  Because even though I'm doing it, I'm never actually ready for it.  To be an adult.  It does bewilder me still.

And it makes me think of this life.  And how I have to keep adapting even though I don't know what it's about or what I'm really supposed to be doing.  But I've never known.  I mean, we never know.  How could we?  And as far as work goes, I always remember my dad saying once, when I was the most confused about those things, to just put my good heart into whatever I do.  So I do that.  And I'm not as confused anymore, for the most part.

And then I thought of my mom and can she believe that her kids are grown up now and does that make her sad?  I guess I could just ask her, but it's more interesting thinking about it.  Well, and sad, too, for me.  But I never was one to have anything against sadness about what life is.  And how shocked we are so often when we notice it, for whatever reason, just thinking about it, or being stunned into seeing that truth from time to time, like when you're giving a business presentation remembering yourself as a little girl, free and dancing in the garden, or when other things like that happen.

Downtown

I've been neglecting this writing for a while, I know, but not without good reason.  I had a visitor recently and I got the chance to give the LA tour of the century!  How many beautiful things we did!  And how incredible to feel the brilliance of so many things I love surrounding me day after day.  

A really rough sketch is this: Yamashiro Farmer's Market on its last night, the music, Hollywood below, bargaining at the food stand for the last time of the season.  L'Oteria and my griddled cheese and being so happy at that counter and open kitchen sharing food.  Birds and my bartender who always lights up when he sees me.  Cafe 101 with its perfect jukebox. Tapas and Cube and Farfalla and so many delicious meals.  The Getty and its tram up the hillside and the grounds over the ocean and being in a place that means so much to me with someone I care so much about, the art and those buildings and always being captivated and silenced and moved near to tears and finding even more meaning this time.  

And so many surprises, so many unexpected detours and discoveries.  And more beauty, almost unbearable beauty, than I can express.  That was one of the unexpected things. That there is an unabridged version that is far too magical and sacred even for me to describe. 

It felt like I got to see and share the culmination of all of the years I've put into exploring and loving this city.  And there are so many places here that have nurtured me and fed me over the years.  It is a city you have to find.  That, I have learned.  But I've learned, too, that I've found it.  At least, I've found mine.  Maybe part of the reason the trip was so special was because I got to show someone the secrets this city has spoken to me the more I've loved it, and the city decided to whisper more in gratitude for that love.  And I was sharing it with someone who understood.

Amidst the varied magnificence of the week's outings, we took a few visits to Downtown.  I always love showing people Downtown LA.  That it exists, that you can take the subway there, that there is a subway.  And, more than that, it's my old turf, so I'm comfortable navigating it.  And I've got some favorite spots I love visiting.  Pete's on Main St., Grand Central Market, the Concert Hall, The Edison.  

It's always good to go back. Because that was a significant battleground for me on my journey to loving LA.  And this time, it struck me even more.

Walking down bustling Broadway, with its string of old theatre marquees and Latino peddlers, I got to thinking about when I lived there with my friend Brooke.  Moving Downtown was part of our confused attempt to be happy, the same attempt that involved going to Disneyland, which was a flop.  We were just grasping at various ideas, and, of course, none were the solution.  You don't find happiness outside of yourself.  I guess we didn't know that then. 

We were desperate to find something that would solve our lives.  And Downtown seemed like the promised land.  I don't know why.  We had no explanation, I bet, if you'd asked us.  But for some reason, Downtown had streets paved with gold and was the answer to all of our quarter-life worries and sorrows and fears and confusion.  We'd even sing, "Downtown, things'll be great when we're Downtown!"  Though, I think it was probably a bit forced and metaphorically off-key and ended with more of a question mark trying to be an exclamation point.  And it turned out that Downtown wasn't the answer.  

But I look back fondly on those months.  Both of us working from home, writing from our beautiful loft.  Sitting in the window looking down on the soup-kitchen truck while the local lady of the night walked up and down the block.  Ending up in Skid Row by accident and clinging to each other in panic.  Which was not how we'd dreamed it would be at all. 

I do know, though, that it was what it needed to be for us.  Which is why it's always good to go back to the old neighborhood.  Though it's all cleaned up and swanky now, I can offer it a certain thank you for being what it was.  And re-trace my own sad steps, walking on ground that knew me before.  

And I get to show it that, now, I am deeply happy, even though that's no longer the right word.  And it's not in the way we were looking for back then, either, but in the real way.  In the way that knows there is exquisite, indescribable meaning in the most unexpected experiences.  In the way that knows not to take life too seriously, but knows, too, in the same breath, to take it very seriously.  

And to love this.  Because this is it.  

Philadelphia

The business trip to Philadelphia was quite lively.  There's too much, really, to tell, but leaving LA and the rainstorm and the early mornings in the city were the parts I liked the best.

First, I started off with an unexpected vow to myself as I was boarding the plane.  It was inspired by this woman a couple of people ahead of me who was complaining to her husband a few people behind me.  She was just obnoxious and what she was saying is of no import except that it went something like this, "Profanity profanity expletive profanity pejorative expletive."  It was not pleasant.  And I turned to my friend behind me and we were both actually laughing because there is just no reason to be that way ever.  Especially when traveling because, as far as I know, that is when you should be the most prepared for things not to go as planned.  It's almost guaranteed.  And I, for one, find that to be part of the whole joy of traveling.  In any case, I was amused that someone could really be taking it that seriously and proclaimed, quietly, but aloud, "I promise I will never be that way."  So that was settled.

One of the most breathtaking parts of the whole journey was actually leaving LA.  It was sunrise and there was LA below me in its sea of pink.  And there was the ocean, golden and quiet, but brewing.  And there were the mountains in their bright bronze and iridescent glow.  And there was my LA far below, strange home that I never would have envisioned.  And there I felt in my heart a sigh, recalling the journey that led me to that vast place.

During the flight, we hit an extreme bout of turbulence when we were over Colorado, which I was happy about on one level because I would not have known that we were passing over Colorado otherwise.  It happened while I was learning, thanks to the free seat-back magazine, that Port is traditionally pressed by bare feet.  And that the grapes are better macerated when the treaders are dancing.  They're even accompanied by musicians! So making Port becomes a small party.  

So, there I was picturing some old Portuguese villa when the guy sitting behind me got up to stand in the aisle.  I looked over and, the strangest thing, there stood a true and proper friar.  I could be wrong, but I think that's what he was.  And it seemed like he had just stepped out of my old world Portugal vision.  Standing there in the full regalia.  The black draping robe, rosaries hanging from the rope belt slung low at his waist.  I felt like I needed to hail Mary or something.  Hustle and save my own soul really fast.  But I didn't.  I think I'm doing all right.

I can say, however, that when we hit even more extreme turbulence upon our approach to Philadelphia, probably the longest and most severe I've ever experienced, in that moment, surprising even to me, I was comforted by the presence of a holy man at my back.

It was grey and cold when we arrived in Philadelphia, but I was excited for that too, for the gloomy weather, for Philadelphia itself, but also for other things.  Three days on the turf of the founding fathers, the Radisson, expense reports.  Things of that nature.

When we finally settled in, some of my coworkers and I decided to explore a little bit.  We made our way to an Irish pub on that fine evening and about halfway through our pints, it started to rain this insane doomsday rain and we all ran outside and got drenched because that's just not something you get in LA.  Oh, it was amazing, too!  Sheets of warm rain being hurled by the wind off the sides of the buildings.  It took us about one minute to get soaked and we were all laughing and smiling and it really might have been my favorite part of the whole trip.

That and waking up early to go explore the city by myself.  I loved that, too.  Walking around in the chill of the morning with my warm coffee in an old city.  Watching the old brick buildings welcome the sun as it crawled from their rooftops down their sides to the streets.  Those mornings were good for me.  Quiet, pensive interruptions to the long days of meetings.  Which were good too.  It was all just really good.

And then it was all over and I was on the plane again, approaching LA.  No complaining wives, thank god.  But no friars, either, God be with him.  Just me and my happiness. About returning to a place that I have grown to love so much.  But more about being in the world.  And about everything I have done and everything else I get to do.

Again, Hollywood Bowl

I went to the Hollywood Bowl again this last week and, this time, well, this was the show of the summer for me.  That's kind of what I'd been waiting for.  It was my ultimate Bowl-going that I know and love.  Where everything falls into place and it's somehow spontaneously perfect. 

I always kind of wait until the last minute to invite someone to any given show throughout the summer.  This time, my friend Maddy was my date.  We used to work together, and I remembered her saying that she wanted to go to this show back when I bought my tickets.  So she was stoked for the invite.  And it magically turned out that our friend Marcos and his boyfriend were able to scrounge up tickets as well.  So the crew was assembled.

Obviously, we didn't have tickets anywhere near each other.  But the Bowl is my turf, so I told them to stick with me and all would be well.  I did what I always do, which is never sit in the seats I purchased, which is pretty much what every Bowl veteran does unless you have box seats, which is part of the charm of the Hollywood Bowl that has stayed intact over the years.  Which makes me happy, because, as you know, I like life a little bit more free and haphazard than the next guy.

So I led our group toward the perfect little cluster of seats.  The trick is picking out the right row.  Because you have to know it won't fill up with late-comers.  And, more than that, you have to pick the right section so that if you do get kicked out, you can easily act like you accidentally sat in the row right behind yours and casually move up.  

I'm quite proud of my acumen at it.  There was definitely a learning curve.   Once, years ago, I ended up sitting in no seats and having to stand by the bushes in the aisles.  I've got my formula now, though, or some Bowl intuition gained over the years.  

As for the show itself, it was amazing.  I brought sangria and gouda and Marcos brought two other delectable cheeses that I must ask him about and a variety of crackers and we were all very pleased with the piquant picnic combination.  Delicious and simple.  The night was glorious.  Our favorite act, hands down, was Passion Pit.  The music filled the sky with that Hollywood Bowl majesty that compares to nothing.  

For me, it gets me every time at the right show there, that whole sky, filled with music, holds me and surrounds me and any worries completely disappear and I know how good life is to me and I smile with gratitude.  

And I couldn't have asked for better company.  Because it felt like we were all appreciating it just as much.  And we were carefree and happy.

I thought of something again too.  I've noticed that as I get older I seem to gather younger friends, and only every so often realize it, like that night.   But I guess it's because we tend to attract people with a similar outlook and perspective on life more than just people of the same age.  Or somehow there's just a connection.  I mean, it really doesn't matter how many years you've lived here or not to me, but how you're living here.  

I know I've always had the mystified child's outlook, though, even more than my younger friends, who are already being trained to take life too seriously.  And I'm idealistic to the core of me.  Most people tend to drift from that and buckle down in the world as adults.  But my wonder remains.  

I think people might forget, but what we were we ever are.  Remember, we are all just a child, too.  Some just seem to abandon the child they were and some, I guess, like me, keep it right there with the rest of who they've become.

Anyway, I've never had this big plot construed about becoming an adult, but only a plot to watch the bright days unfold and experience it as it comes and be just me and hopefully gain some wisdom to extol and engage with it all as much as possible.  I'd rather do that than have a plan that doesn't work out.  

Like this woman I often encounter in Brentwood when I'm on my lunch break.  She's always just enjoyed talking to me and the other day she was grumbling about how hard it is to be in her 50s and divorced and I was just thinking that the only reason that was hard is that she never found her happiness alone.  But all I said was that I don't think life was meant to be easy anyway and that knowing that can allow us to just experience this crazy place for all that it is.  She seemed to take that to heart.  At least, she repeated it out loud to herself before we parted, in any case. There's a child in her too.

Ultimately, to me, your life is its days.  So it's the days that matter.  Which is why I love when I have one that is so full and complete, like that one that ended at the Hollywood Bowl with my sweet friends and the music holding me on the hillside.

Alas, I have no more time to ponder on this fine day, for I must go and prepare for a business trip with adult people. What fun for this child heart of mine!  I'm looking upon that prospect with sparkles in my eyes too, because, I mean, it's very serious, and that amuses me to no end.