Bring Me Your Huddled Masses (Friday, Bloody Friday)

Ryan's zucchini finally producing (though he insists on picking them small and bringing them in beaming). Another rush from of flowers from the roses. Newly planted Cleveland Sage shooting up new leaves (probably one of the best smelling plants in the California chaparral).

Up early today to wash dishes, get in a much-needed meditation, and get onto the blog before everyone in the house gets up. The temptation to be drawn into the LA Times has been averted, perhaps the calming energy from the meditation let me pull myself away.

Why is it so often we want to do what is easy after contemplating what is good, but harder? After all, when the easy is over, so many times we think, "Why didn't I do the other?"

It's probably the ease of those tasks that draws us to them.

I will head out into the garden again today, gently, as my back is still out - keeping me up for a good part of the night, but others, oh, the others, will already be heading home after standing in line for the 4am JCPenney post-Thanksgiving sale.

I'm going to try not to step on toes now, because a few people near and dear to my heart go once a year to shop on Black Friday when stores open their doors early and lure people through "loss leaders" or items marked below cost to generate a feeding frenzy.

And that's what it reminds me of, a feeding frenzy.

But not, sadly enough, for food to live on. It's for, once again, consumable goods that will be forgotten in years to come. The latest video game for the kids, the pair of earrings for the girlfriend, etc., etc. I do know people on strict budgets who use this day to try to make their Christmas lists fit their income, but it seems to me very backward. And that's probably not a surprise, considering what a contrarian I am.

When I was a kid Sears used to put out what they called their "Wish Book" which was full of toys, furniture, earrings, etc. Stuff people would hopefully wish for. I spent hours, I mean hours, looking at it until all the pages were dogeared from all that incessant, OCD-like turning.

I understand want, I am a victim or want, but in retrospect I realize how very wrong I was. Just as Jesus never stood in front of his apostles and told them which way to vote (the Son of God wasn't much into politics), I can't imagine Him telling Peter what to buy Paul for Hanukkah.

You'll hear no such advice from the Buddha, Mohamed, Moses, or really, the corner preacher.

Because it's of little importance in the scheme of things.

I agree with the expression Giving is More Important than Receiving, but it gets a little convoluted when you start making lists of all your Wants and handing it out to people. And, unlike the frontier woman who needs a new pot to cook her family's meals in or one nice dress to wear to church on Sunday, we're incredibly rich people, even if we're on a strict budget and trying to make ends meet.

I hate to inform the US of A, but a Wii system means little in the scheme of things. It can't educate, love, express gratitude, or even try to save the planet. It is an entertainment system, something that takes us out of our lives and distracts us a little while. Like alcohol without all the negative implications.

I'm not suggesting that everyone go home and write poetry to their loved ones this holiday season, because I too will be buying gifts just the same as you, but that seeing something like Black Friday is a portrait of how bad it all can get and hopefully will help remind ourselves that blatant consumerism can get incredibly obscene.

The reason the prophets didn't mention it, nor is it mentioned on the pulpit, is because it is a colossal lie, we think we need things that we don't because: we want to be more attractive; we want to be more entertained; we want to keep up with our friends, business associates, and neighbors...

Consumerism is a fact of our life, and I'm not going to change such a fact in my post for me or anyone reading, but I think what smarter people than us are saying is for us to shift our focus, to be thankful for what we already have and pass blessings on to those in real need.

I had trouble being thankful yesterday and I don't really know why, because I am so very, very, very blessed... but with an unsteady mind, many times it's hard to focus on those things that give you joy. I stepped outside the house, sat down on the steps and started to pick a few weeds from the garden, just alone, sitting under the toyon tree and doing nothing but picking.

A neighbor stopped by, Ryan came to see me, the sun shone on my face, I petted a dog, the day was warm, the house finches came by for food, and I was calm again. Not thankful yet, but calm.

I considered it the road to thankfulness, right here, in silence, and later, meeting with friends who had spent all day cooking so we could share a meal together.

There is your grace, there is that which holy people are speaking.

You may not know this, but the ads for many 4am post-Thanksgiving sales, if they are plain and not glossy paper, may be placed out in the garden, covered with fallen leaves, and used as mulch to deter unwanted weeds from popping up.

Which is where I am headed right now.



(photo byJef Poskanzer)

Please Don't Read!

Unless, like me, you are fascinated with other people's frustrations.

This is not a gardening entry, this is not a cooking entry (though it is on the eve of having 50 people over at my house for an early Thanksgiving feast, which we've done for 9 years), this is just one of those long, boring kvetches about other people who have no say in my life.

Wendy has a bag from this clever, and very expensive company, called lululemon which reads on the side: "Jealousy works exactly the opposite of the way you want it to," or something to that effect.

Well, I've been having what you'd call a jealous day. Maybe it comes on the top of working hard, being busy with the kids, prepping for this function, and having my back go out. Maybe it just was lurking underneath the whole time.

While listening to NPR's podcast of Driveway Moments today I heard a voice from the past talking. It was Mitch Hurwitz, maybe known by everyone else as the creator of Arrested Development, but to me he has more personal ties than that. While I was working for the production company, Witt-Thomas-Harris, he was the golden boy I watched rise to the top. Was he a bad guy, no, no certainly. But there is something to watching someone have it so good on paper (I believe he went to Harvard and had already started and sold the Boston cookie company Chipyard that he and his brother had started in their youth), go onto better things.

There is something about looking the part, acting the part, and becoming the part. And there is something to being a middle-class, not-going-anywhere-fast person who watches that ascension.

Not that I'm saying that I was the creepy guy who lurked in the shadows fixing computers, writing scripts late at night and hurtling darts at his picture. Exactly the opposite. He and I hung out, dated the same girl, and I had him look over my scripts, he being a fledgling writer on the fast track.

Now here's the odd thing, I did not want to stay in TV. After coming home one night at 5:30 in the morning after a long (and really crappy) script rewrite, my wife broke into tears saying she didn't want to live this way. She was right. I hated almost every show on TV and I was breaking my back to entertain people I thought had very low expectations.

So Mitch is one of those people you think about when approaching your high school reunion. That person you know has become wildly successful (Emmys, anyone? 7.5 million house, sir?) and you wonder why you have not.

I have a closer friend, who went onto produce movies, TV shows, and become a household name and left all the rest of us gasping for air at the end of his unanswered phone calls.

What is this jealousy? What is it we wanted so desperately out of life that we have trouble hearing other people's good fortune?

Maybe it was because we tried ourselves and failed. Which is partly what happened with me in TV. Failing and quitting. Regardless, it still feels bad when you hear that person and instead of an old flame, who brings back old feelings, this person brings in new feelings like, "What the hell went wrong in my life that's going so incredibly right with theirs?"

Bringing me back to the golden boy. Both of these friends were set up for it. Both are talent writers who worked endlessly to get their scripts to be as incredible as they could get them. One had a prominent father in the business, the other business acumen.

I tell myself, often, that the things that really matter in life, those items I hear time and again from everyone from Jesus to the man on the street, is family, God, and happiness. Sometimes they even let happiness drop off! (The Bible's full of unhappy souls doing God's work.)

And when I was in TV, I saw second and third marriages and some of the unhappiest (yet funniest) people I've ever met. If I was going to stay there, there'd be a good chance I'd sacrifice all that I now have. (My friend's wife told us a few years ago they've teetered on the brink of divorce many times.)

So what, Mr. Jealousy? What to do with you now?

I can't explain you away and I can't drink you under the table.

I'll have to sit with you awhile, the same way I did with Forgiveness when he wouldn't let me forgive someone I believe wronged me.

Ugh.

Double ugh.

Now aren't you glad you didn't read this?

Same Old Story?

Black zucchini finally starting to fruit. California poppies sticking their tufts out of the soil. Roses back in bloom (candy striped one blossoming as I haven't seen it flower in years).

You'll have to excuse me if you've heard this story before. Is my mind getting weak? I'm not sure. I'm getting older, this much I know....

But this, my friend, is the story of how I got rid of my gardener.

When Wendy and I moved into this house lo so many years ago, we fell in love with it because it had this beautiful wild garden out front. Okay, that's sort of a lie. Wendy knew I loved the outdoors and plants and figured I would love this place and gardening.

She was, as usual, right. What she didn't think of was that the garden would be a bit much to take care of by ourselves.

One of the previous owners was a landscape architect. At some point in the distant past he had decided to take out most of his broad front lawn (the house is on the corner, pushed all the way back to the lot) and put in an array of plants he'd apparently collected from some of his paying gigs from around town, as well as some I'm guessing he'd bought at the native plant place up in the valley.

This was all beautiful to look at, but when it came time to take care of it, I think both Wendy and I realized it'd be an enormous task to do ourselves. I come from Nebraska, but knew nothing about plants that weren't growing in the wild. I didn't even know anything about the grass I had to mow every summer as a kid except that we had to water it every once in awhile instead of going off and playing with our friends.

Wendy was worse off. Both her mother and grandmother are consummate plant people and Wendy could give a hoot.

So here we were standing in front 200 or so of our favorite plants wondering what the hell we were going to do about it.

Enter Javier, well-dressed (he also sold houses) with hands roughened by years of yard work, he introduced himself as the ex-owners' gardener. We struck a deal and were happy to have him on board.

It only took us a few months to discover he mowed the yard, blew the leaves around, and left.

They call it "Mow, Blow, and Go".

We, on the other hand, were expected to do the weeding, fertilizing, watering, and, essentially, everything else.

I cataloged plants, sweated over watering systems, memorized Latin names, and so much more. Those were the crazy, freewheeling days before children and after the bar scene.

Regardless, I realized as much as I did, I'd always need Javier for his extra four hours a week with a helper to get things in order. 8 man hours! What the hell kind of garden did I get myself into? Believe me, surrounded by silence, you get to ask that question to yourself many, many times.

Last summer (2006 that is) I was listening to my wife talk about her yoga teacher. Wendy said she'd heard the woman give this interesting piece of advice to her class:

"You come here once or twice a week, that's great. But what about the rest of your week? We hire gardeners, house cleaners, car washers, dog washers, and dry cleaners to do all the physical work that our bodies need. Your paying them to do the hard stuff then coming here to pay me so you can do the hard stuff."

Maybe she wasn't the best salesman for yoga, but she had an interesting point. And I was listening. On Saturdays Wendy works and I take care of the kids. This used to involve Thomas the Tank Engine track building, reading time, long walks trying to get them to sleep, and every other activity you could think of.

As soon as they grew older, though, I noticed I could be outside with them for a good 20 minutes before they started to complain. My older son, Ryan, could last an hour.

So when they turned 7 and 4 respectively, I decided to take the plunge. Instead of staying inside (where I am all week at work) and vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning the dishes, I decided I should be outside, taking care of my yard.

I made sure I had all the equipment I needed before I actually called and spoke to Javier. This was a task in itself. I scoured Craigslist for used bargains, which, it turned out were plenty. Mostly people who said something like this in their ad, "I wanted to do my own gardening, but it turns out I'm too lazy. Get this mower for cheap."

In my choice among mowers, it was easy, according to the Union for Concerned Scientists a gas-powered lawn mower "emits as much smog-forming pollution in one hour as eight new cars traveling at 55 miles per hour."

Probably didn't know that, did you? Neither did I.

So the choice came to electric lawn mowers. (I studied the high end Brill reel mowers, but I was cautioned that unless I was going to mow every week and never take a break, don't get one.) The Neuton mower, which is cordless, seemed like a good choice, but they were expensive at $400 (they're lower now). I did want to make sure if this whole thing didn't work out, I wouldn't be staring at $700 worth of lawn equipment rusting in my garage.

I finally decided on a used electric (corded) mulching mower. I figured I could:

1. Mow quietly
2. With less pollution
3. Mulch the lawn with clippings instead of fertilizing
   

In all of these, the mower scored big. The bonus? I don't know if you mow your own lawn, but I remember having to yank the hell out of that cord every time I wanted to start the dang thing up. And you had to restart it every time you wanted to empty the bag. The electric engine starts automatically and, best of all, if people are walking by you can stop it. Not idle. Stop it completely.

Now the fact that I have very little lawn and can reach the whole dang thing within the reach of two orange extension cords has to be taken into consideration here.

And that I had to learn how NOT to run over my own electrical cord while I was mowing. That is tantamount.

Plus, the guy who sold it to me threw in a Weed Whacker/Edger for free! Hard to beat a bargain like that, huh?

The first time I did the lawn (adding an electric blower into the mix from a woman who'd recently moved to an apartment and didn't need hers) it took hours and hours, but I did it.

I called Javier and told him the news, and told him he may be hearing from me very soon in the event this whole thing didn't work out.

Oh, it's late, and this story is just half way through.

Until next time....

Guarded

Fires are up. Well, that's an understatement, the fires are the worst they've been in California history.

But it's not gardening I want to talk about today. Or fires.

Luana, the woman guard who has been downstairs for what, 3 years?, is leaving.

She's a level-headed woman in her 50s who I think lives down in the inner city.

She'd been gone for several weeks and I'd worried about her, because she's there every morning at 8:00am when I come in. She's always smiling and has a bit of that "well, hell, we're all working here" attitude that I always like. But she's a damn hard worker and incredibly nice.

She came back one morning and I said, "Hey Luana! We missed you around here!" (It's not that either of us ever has a lot of time to speak in the morning, but I had to figure out what was going on). "I thought you'd left us!"

She laughed and replied with her Southernish accents, "Aw Tim, you know I wouldn't do that. I was taking care of a family emergency."

"I'm sorry to hear. What happened?"

"Aw, my aunt died after a long battle with cancer."

"Oh, Luana, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, she was sick and she's in a better place now."

I agreed.

"You know, September's going to always be a hard month. My brother was murdered in September. My uncle was shot. And now this."

I told her I was sorry again. Honestly, I didn't know what to say.

"And problem with my aunt is, she's got four foster kids and they said they was going to put them back in the system since there's no one to take 'em. So they've all moved in with me."

Which is right around the time I went into shock. Here's this woman, with grown kids on her own, taking in four foster kids, with an array of history and problems, into her home. The oldest 16 and the youngest 5.

My first thought was, "Are you crazy? Do you know what the hell this is going to do to your life? How it's going to shake it the hell apart?" Wendy and I had already taken in a teen, our niece, for a little over a year and her general lack of discipline and our straight-and-narrow made for terrible bedfellows. It ended badly.

So this was the story several weeks ago. Yesterday she told me she's leaving.

"Tim, these kids have a lot of special needs. I've got to run them all around town to therapists, doctors. Sometimes I have to go to three appointments a day. I can't do that and keep this job."

I suggested maybe the building that employed her would let her stay on a flex schedule.

"Naw, I already tried that, and it's not going to work. They're trying everything they can to make me stay, but it's better to leave while they still love me."

I didn't ask her how she was going to make ends meet. I don't know. I know that foster care will give you money for each child, I'm just not sure if that's enough for everyone in her house to live on.

Of course part of me feels bad for losing her, I love seeing her everyday. But I told her anyway, "You're doing the right thing. You're changing the course of these kids' lives. And that's a really honorable thing to do."

I don't know what I'd do in similar circumstances. Not at all. Hopefully I'll never have to face it. Hopefully if I ever do, like Luana, I'll know what to do.

It is funny, you see someone every day, an acquaintance you see, the teller at the bank, the postman, the UPS guy, but you may have absolutely no idea what's going on in their lives, or how similar their lives are to yours.

Or mine.

We're talking about me here, Mr. Know-It-All-Seen-It-All.

I'm glad I talked to Luana. I'm glad she's my friend. I'm glad she's taking care of those kids who probably never had a first chance, so someone else can give them their second.

You Don't Know From Funk

Ryan's corn picked and in the fridge (small, but edible). Squash producing flowers but no zucchini (further evidence that we are not very good vegetable gardeners). Roses sending up blood red stems and leaves. Tiny annual mums still blooming.

There is one amazing thing about gardening that makes it so apart from writing and exercise, that I wonder why anyone wouldn't trade in the latter for the former: you can garden no matter what mood you are in.

It's true. Gardening almost always makes you feel better when you do it. Whereas a bad day of writing. Hell, there are months of bad writing sometimes. Sometimes you just sit and look at the writing or exercise bicycle and you say, "Aw, the hell with it," then flip on the TV.

I do not know why gardeners won't fall into this dilemma, but as depressed, lazy, wound up, mad at your spouse/boss/children/society as you can get, there's never a moment you can't look out the window and say, "Dang it all, I'm just going to go out there and pull some weeds."

And, it is a small miracle. Problems seem to recede in the distance, you forget why you were mad in the first place. Yes, you may still be mad when you go into the house, but while you're out there, fingers in the dirt, you are not.

Is there a secret? I don't think so. Except perhaps exercise does really feel like a lot of work to go do, even if you feel great afterward, and writing... hell, I don't know why anyone writes. Maybe they like to be tortured.

Today this blog post is brought to you by PostSecret, which is a site that accepts postcards with people's secrets on them to an address in Maryland, then posts them to their blog. It's like popcorn, I read 10 in fascination, and weirdly, got the energy to finally come back here and write.

I would've gardened, but Wendy said if she caught me gardening at night, she'd kill me.

I don't know why I haven't become an eccentric. Seems easier to live that way.

(photo by Ingorrr)

September 4, 2007

Lion's Tail trimmed. Plumbago, aka Sticky Bush, trimmed so car can get by. Corn silking. Black Zucchini flowering, flowering, flowering. Fennel cut down to their very stalks.

That's fennel up top. Not the same fennel you've had in what many Americans would call a "fancy meal" (Farfelle with Seafood and Chicken Bolognese Sauces, Fennel Apple Salad, and Watercress Soup, but the one that grows in ditches, throughout parks, and in vacant lots even Chevron has abandoned.

I love fennel. Even though mine has no bulb as the Italian one does. (That's the trick, aye. Fennel with the bulb. That's the delicious part.) When I was a little more passionate about cooking, I'd go out in the spring and fall and snip some to put in the salad. Yes, I liked the taste, but I think I liked the fact something from my garden was actually in the salad more.

Still, when it's coming back, poking its furry fronds out of the soil, I still do like to grab a bite and get the licorice rush while doing my yard work.

Sadly, fennel is not from here. In fact, it's from very far away from here originally, the Mediterranean, Africa, Asia, and Europe. Also, sadly, my fennel, bulb-less seems to be the noxious invader taking over wild spaces throughout California.

I've got three stands of fennel, with which I've decided to make a compromise after speaking to a native plant guy who educated me on the threats caused by it. I promised to cut it down before it went to seed and could make any more fennel plants.

Ryan has been dying to cut them down for at least three weeks now, but I was waiting until they were absolutely done flowering, mostly because the bees and butterflies love them so much.

It was only when we did cut them down that we discovered most of the stalks were dotted with empty ladybug larvae skins. Looking at them, I thought I had to rescue them before putting them in the green bin. It was only when Ryan and I looked closely that we discovered these were empty shells, the ladybugs flown off to other venues.

Now I ask you, how can I cut down a veritable ladybug creating machine?

Ryan, now wary of spiders and tall grasses did his best to jump into the fennel, cut a stalk down, then jump back. I tried not to be the Father of Yore and yell. When was the next time I'd spend with him out in the garden? (I don't know, it's an interesting edge. You spend too much time pandering to them and it can work against you. Why? I'm not sure, it just does.)

He cut down 10 or so stalks and was done. I finished up, hoed the rest of the grass that had grown up between it and considered going out for mulch.

That would have to wait for another day. It was aptly Labor Day, 9:30 in the morning, and the temperature was climbing in the upper 80's already.

I headed inside for a shower and breakfast.


(Photo by ellengwallace)

Raising Cain

Most flowers fading. Cut back Lion's Tail and Dr. Seuss bush. Roses coming back for a second round, albeit smaller flowers. Second batch of corn taller than Ryan, Black Zucchini larger wider than Ryan.


There may be a victory in the air today, I just don't seem in the mood to get it yet.

One of Wendy's friends is starting a Web site for eco friendliness with a leaning toward families. And, get this, they want to pay me for content.


The problem? I've heard promises like this before and I'm a little too old to be spending my evenings writing away while the supposed check is in the mail.

Yes, doesn't that sound cheery? Don't you wish you were right here beside me hearing these words of encouragement I give to myself? Hell, yes, I hear myself oftentimes and wonder who the hell I am. But that's just me.

Haven't been having the greatest runs of days lately. And it's nothing to do with the garden. It's just... maybe midlife crisis? Who knows. But if you're at the same job for 9 years, as I have been, you can find yourself in a rut.

I meditated this morning, something I rarely do, and the clarity you can get from just sitting on the edge of the bed and taking 5 minutes (yes, 5 minutes) worth of deep breaths is simply stunning. Why? Not my role to ask why, I just know this: my mind was clear and I could see things beyond the everyday ordinariness which clouds my mind so many days out of the month.

Oh, this isn't a cheery entry at all, is it?

Darn it.

Anyway, getting into work and I'm dreaming a bit about being in the garden, feeling connected. Is that the feeling? Connected? Is that what we long for, then rush around looking for other things instead of connectedness because it's easier to buy stuff than do all the hard work?

Got me.

But here it is: Got the opportunity to write for the site. I'm stupid not to take it.

As my friend, who recently moved up to Oregon (from Nebraska) said: Why are you waiting for your life to begin?

Garbage Day

July 30th

Fennel going to seed; tomatoes coming in gangbusters; daylillies fading; magnolia still flowering; lion's tail needs cutting back; grass still going crazy in all those areas I haven't been able to get to.

I'm not saying that every person who works in their garden ends up thinking about garbage, but surely the ones who compost do.

We have a little composter under our sink. Called the MaxAir, it's from Norway (wildly) and is outfitted with compostable "plastic" bags made of corn. When Wendy or I cut vegetables, as we are wont to do, we just throw the scraps into the little composter. On Saturdays, gardening day, I take the bucket out back and dump it in the big composter, bag and all.

In theory, what is supposed to happen is this is all supposed to happen smoothly. Like everything outside of a catalog, it doesn't.

For one, the MaxAir composter needs to be emptied twice a week. And it leaks, even though the ads say it doesn't. So we have to put it in a little Tupperware container. And it has to be outside in the summer. We get fruit flies in Southern California, and I'll be damned if they don't convince you of Spontaneous Generation. There are hundreds of them just a day after you put your first banana peel in there.

The rest, however, works pretty well. I take care of the composting, which I think is the part most people are grossed out by. I don't blame them. The composter is not the pretty one you see in the catalog, it's out in the corner of the back yard collecting spiderwebs over the week. Plus, mind you, it's full of rotting vegetables. OMG! "Rotting vegetables....? Grosssssss." Yes, you can hear the Vals screaming now. (I hadn't even started in on the worms that had moved in.)

Here's the weird thing: we ran out of the compostable bags (we have to order them online. Wait I have to. I just did. But it took me awhile) and in the meantime we've been throwing away scraps into the trash, just like we used to. But get this, we feel guilty about it now. Why? Because somewhere deep in the recesses of our minds, we became bonded to the idea of greencycling. Yes, we can buy organic vegetables (sometimes we do, sometimes we don't), but if we throw them out with the regular old garbage, they're going to be trapped under the miles of rubbish and compacted for the next millennia. " From Packaging Digest, an industry publication on packaging: "studies of landfills have revealed that on the whole, they tend to be tombs rather then composting reactors". I'm not saying the banana peel is as bad as the plastic bag, but still, if I'm here, and I've got space in my yard?

And do I rove the neighborhood endlessly spouting off about my "Black Gold", the compost of kings? No. I don't. Actually I rarely even use the compost out there in my bin. Why? I don't know why, exactly. Maybe because I've never been taught how to use it properly. But I really think that's a step that will come. For now I've got this little thing going. We buy the apple. We feed the apple to our kids. We toss the core and stem into the composter. Organisms that are already living out in my backyard break it down to usable compost for plants (or just a little ever growing pile of compost in my backyard).

I think about those people who lived here only 150 years ago, only a few generations ago, actually, and how they had to make things last forever. And how closely they had to live near their garbage. Our garbage is whisked away once a week and taken to a far off place. We don't see it. We don't smell it. And yet, it's there.

I'm not sure if it's a result of this, but we've started to look at all packaging and garbage in a different since starting this a few years ago. Most everything is broken down, even if it is a colossal pain. Toilet paper rolls go in the Paper Cycling. Plastics go in the Recycling Bin.

It's not easy. I'm not saying it's easy. I am saying, though, that's it's right and it's good.

There's a Zen Buddhist saying, "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water."

Some things, raising good (or relatively good) children, work, gardening, relationships, are not easy. That's what makes them incredibly valuable to us. The world should be of inherent value to all of us, but we've been fooled, lulled to sleep actually, about its value. As hard as it seems, it's going to take work to get back to a proper perspective.

And that's not a bad thing.

(Picture by nanaandbump)

Cows for Freedom

About 5 years ago, I'm not sure where, I heard about an interesting non-profit organization named Heifer. It was founded right after WWII, it's a "humanitarian assistance organization that works to end world hunger and protect the earth."

Essentially, at the beginning, cattle, goats, ducks, and such were flown by B-52s into wartorn Europe. After those many years of bombing, farmers, ranchers, and everyday people were left without fresh milk, meat, or a way of making money.

This organization has grown immensely, even in the time we've been giving to them. But the important first point remains, whoever receives the gift (the cow, duck, chicken, etc.) must "pass on the gift" to someone who is needy when the animal has offspring.

Through reading their material I learned a lot I didn't really want to know and information I think they've found to be vital, such as, in many countries women wouldn't be entrusted with running a business like selling eggs. But often the men are in such dire straits and caught up in, um, activities not conducive to raising a family and rescuing a people out of poverty.

My wife being a vegetarian, when we send gifts to families, they are often not meat products: trees, bees, llamas, etc. The kids aren't so crazy about sending bunnies to a place where they're going to eat them, either. Even after I made my, "Well, what the heck are they supposed to eat?" speech. In the land of Chicken Nuggets, it's hard to get back to a place where people butcher their own food.

Their magazine is no shrinking violet, either. Their book reviews, while not LA Times caliber, do review and point out fluff when they see it. Even if it's a book you would think would be near and dear to their heart. They include articles written by people such as environmental analyst Lester R. Brown, founder of the Worldwatch Institute and author of, most recently, Plan B: Rescuing a Planet Under Stress and a Civilization in Trouble.

As I said earlier, some of the things you read in their magazine are a little difficult to listen to, especially when we have it so easy. On the positive side, it makes me know my money is being used for something productive that I believe in and, here is the odd, personal part, I feel a more a part of the whole world. Which is a feeling I really don't get that often.

Often when I'm gardening, even though I am working for a semi-invisible world, a complicated web of insects, animals, and teeny, tiny organisms in my yard so they may survive. And I can get some peace and educate my children. But I miss that many times. I don't see what I'm doing. I'm caught, as many of us, in my daydreams, worries, etc. so that I've been blinded.

Hell, I don't know where I'm going with this.

Give to Heifer, you'll do something good.

Whether you actually "feel" it or not.

(Photo by squacco)

Water, Water Everywhere... Wait, Nowhere

Matilijas going strong, Catalina Island Bush Poppy flowering, roses finished, daylilies in full effect.

But the corn, oh the corn. Ryan's corn is stunted. It got "knee high by the Fourth of July", but that's essentially where it stayed. Now it's producing corn which will be too small to eat and if it weren't for Ryan, I'd pull them all out. He believes these corn plants are terrific, which, in his mind's eye, I guess they are. He'll learn later that these can't be eaten, but I'm sure he won't be disappointed the way and adult would. (Which in itself is kind of interesting. I can understand an adult who is trying to grow food for his family being crushed when they don't turn out, but it's a bit silly to think of adults crying because the forsythia isn't performing the way they'd like.)

After talking to Jimmy, the plant guy at the Hollywood Farmer's Market, my suspicions were confirmed: not enough water. I kept telling Ryan to water it more frequently, his fault, but didn't listen to him when he indicated we should plant it in front of the house (my fault and faltering memory, it'd done well there a few years back).

We've bought new corn seedlings, Jimmy telling us that you can plant them well into September in Los Angeles. September! It makes you wonder why everyone isn't growing their own vegetables in this city. I guess it's a time/money conundrum. Hell, corn is 10 for $1 during high season. Really hard to beat that deal.

Sadly, the water issue being played out in our garden is being magnified a millionfold over Southern California. While Kansas is being drenched, we just completed the driest year in recorded history (measured July to July, year to year since the late 1800's). And yet, no word of it yet from the politicians.

When I asked someone who works in the DA's office why that was (knowing full well it's not the most politically connected office, but heck, he was available to me at a children's party we were at), his answer was no that one wanted to be the unpopular politician who told everyone to cut back. It makes sense. Pathetic as it is.

I think of JFK's speech about going to the moon:
"We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not only because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too"

What caught my eye was the expression, "not only because they are easy, but because they are hard". It echoes, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country."

Where is this sort of speech in the light of the current global warming events facing us? It's no secret that many politicians dumbed down the scientific report on climate warming, and that the current administration loves to turn things around to suit their own needs (as every administration does, but in this case, it's not something that you really want to put your spin on. The earth is warming, now what do we do about it?)

Happily this is going to come from the grass roots up (no pun intended), which is probably for the best. The government has never had much to say about organic vegetables and the fact that we're poisoning our soil, it was the public who has made it a multi-billion dollar industry. Once the farmers come on board, they're going to find (my guess) they get a lot more money for their crops when they're grown organically.

Okay, enough gardener soap box. But when you're weeding you have a lot of time to think and I'm not always vocal when talking to people personally (like to the guy I met at a party who told me busing and desegregation was political posturing. Wow).

Water is something I'm always thinking about and I do believe I err a lot on the underwatering side. I think often of the advice a naturalist, my friend Alan, gave me when I told him about my garden: "Don't bother watering it and plant more of whatever does well." Sound advice to a city that gets so much of its water from rivers diverted into a tremendous aqueduct system.

Though we often think we have no control over problems, it's eye opening to see the facts and figures of the average American household "footprint" on the planet these days. Households, not farmers, use more pesticides:

Suburban lawns and gardens receive more pesticide applications per acre (3.2-9.8 lbs) than agriculture (2.7 lbs per acre on average). Source, National Research Council. 1980.

The amount of water used for our home gardens is also staggering:

One third of all residential water use in the nation - about 7.8 billion gallons of water annually - goes to outdoor landscaping.

Can we start with ourselves, with our own front lawns? It's hard to believe this answer is a hearty "yes", but there it is.

It's not every day you can find yourself saving something precious, but here it is right in front of our faces.

You just need to get down close enough to the roses to hear them whisper, "Thank you".

* dewdrops courtesy of listentoreason via creative commons

Giving Back

June 16 (photo credit Jeannot7)

Matilijas going strong, butterfly bush, lion's tail, and daylily in full bloom. Roses almost spent, but no rose hips yet.

I often hear people saying one of two things about gardening: it's hard work or it's not hard work.

The second type of people are usually teens who discover, upon being demanded to come out in help, that it is damn hard work and that they're sore in places they didn't even know existed the next day.

The first type are right, it is hard work, but what they fail to see is the sheer joy of it. Like single people in their 20's who visit friends who have children, they see the non-stop demands of time and the exhaustion, but they cannot feel their friend's incredible joy. Well, during the quiet moments.

I think gardening, like child rearing, religion, meditation, starts to change you from the inside and changes your view of the world.

An eminent Buddhist monk once said, "You do not see things as they are, you see them as you are."

And as you change, that tree, weed, child, song, history lesson, etc. transforms as well.

Though gardening throughout the mid-20th Century has leaned toward vast waste of water and poisoning the soil (I'd read a few years ago that home gardeners' use of pesticide dwarfs the volume used by farmers), I hope we're past much of that now. People have stopped believing that everything put on the market is safe and, thanks to books like Silent Spring by Rachel Carson, realize the implications of using dangerous poisons out in their front yard.

For me, this garden has been a lesson I've taken into my life. Though I'd asked myself questions about environmentalism before, I'd never really taken them to heart. Does this mean I'm going to turn into a vegetarian? Probably not, but heck, would their be any loss if I did? But it has made me calmer and see the world as less my enemy and more something I'm directly a part of. Hell, I'll go one further, Something I'm supposed to care for.

It may not obvious to an industrialist that his pollution is killing the fish in the lake, but it probably will be if he is a fisherman.

There's a few blogs out there who say they are for "the lazy environmentalist" or for the "fashionable environmentalist", but I'm too practical for that. To me it does mean work: hauling the water, chopping the wood, as the expression goes. I work, I sweat, I'm caretaker of this tiny eighth an acre of land. I believe this is the right way. I'm not a fan of golf or retiring in Florida, because I've been surprised by my own love of this work. And how many people I admire who take this kind of work into their lives: men and women who bicycle into their eighties, 97 year old gardeners, those early risers who are out for walks before everyone has even gotten out of their beds.

What's so crazy about it is how shocked I'd be if I could have seen myself when I was a teen. "That's me??? Hell no!"

But then again, like those single friends, I can't see the inside and how close this is to my heart. If I could understand that as a teen, I would see it all.

Fairly Corny

Though I grew up in Nebraska (from 11 to 22), I never grew my own corn.

Being the son of two Philadelphia natives, I was taught to not even think that much about it, as it paled in comparison to Sweet Jersey Corn. According to my parents, anyway.

We've grown corn in our own little sad way for a few years now, only getting three or four pieces from the stalks. Yes, we are not farmers. We're not even really good gardeners. We are Frustrated, Puzzled, and Many Times Amazed Gardeners.

Ryan's so proud of the ones pictured up top, and he should be, as he grew them from seed.

What's so strange to me is how much we are taught about this stuff when we are young and how faded it becomes in adulthood. Every classroom I visit seems to be hatching eggs, growing beans, or releasing butterflies, yet we moved as a society farther and farther away from nature and agriculture. I don't really have an opinion whether moving away from the family farms is good or not, there's so many valid points on each side, but nature has become such a valuable part of my life (and seems to be a valued part of a student's education) I'm surprised to find so many adults are more caught up in the current state of American Idol rather than what's going on in the world which we are so much a part of.

I shouldn't be shocked, especially considering I've worked at jobs (TV, Marketing) intended to distract people from reality in a sense.

I still have so many thoughts outside while gardening and I often sit up and think, "Hell, I should go in and blog about this," but I usually don't.

The other day I had a mild revelation about this.

I was weeding Wendy's Garden (lavender, roses, herbs) and I got an idea to blog about. I was going to get up, but something stopped me. I looked up and saw the hummingbird at the feeder, I heard the songs and chirps of the birds in the distance, and I looked, from ground level at this beautiful world all around me and I realized this place, right here, right now, was where I wanted to be. So often I spend time on my place to somewhere else or thinking of somewhere else, like a G.I. on the Greyhound Bus headed home after war.

I haven't had that feeling in such a long time, and it really seems, as adults with so many responsibilities, we move further and further away from this kind of peace.

Speaking of which, the children are finally coming out to the office and Wendy is up and getting her first cup of coffee. It's time to post this puppy and go back inside.

What Was, What Is

May 10, 2007

Matilijas in bloom as well as Love-In-A-Mist and hundreds of roses. Really a beautiful time to reflect on the garden, if it weren't for the tall grass going to seed. And...

That two days ago I was looking out the window at this:



(photo credit: iwriteplays, see all her photos at her flickr site)

Griffith Park, the 4000-acre park that is home to the Greek Theatre, Griffith Observatory, LA Zoo, and hundreds of miles of trails, was on fire. It's less than a mile from our house and across an 8-lane freeway and the LA River, so we weren't in danger (or evacuated, like our friends in Los Feliz). But we did have a view of something we may never see face-to-face again, a raging wildfire right in our front yard.

We knew we were safe and just shook our heads as we watched the fire lick the night sky. 80-foot flames? 100-foot flames? It was hard to tell.

We were aware everyone had been evacuated from the nearby hills and hoped and prayed that it wouldn't destroy their homes. It didn't, luckily, not a one. The ancient carousel in the park was saved, though flames came within a thousand yards. Crews worked around the night to put it out, and could only say today, days later, that it is near contained.

What we are left with something that looks a bit like Mars.

The firemen have been explaining something that I've been trying to tell people since we were watching the fire that night, when you have a wild area that has not been burned for 50 years, you have a lot of raw material for fire. I hear the rangers try to tell visitors about the role of fire in management of national and state parks, but I think the image of Smokey Bear is so ingrained in our minds and the advice that Fire=Bad, we have trouble accepting it.

Fires are supposed to burn wild areas occasionally. In fact, many wildflowers and pine trees can't bloom or reproduce without the burns. We've only been creating parklands for 150 or so years, these ecosystems have developed over tens of thousands of years. Yes it's sad to think of the animals running away from the fire - but please don't try to deny that an animals life is full of predators and prey, starvation, and other hardships people in our country don't have to bear.

The park will be beautiful again. In fact, in a few weeks, we'll hike around and look with awe at the forces of nature, just like we did when the floods knocked down the great oaks, obliterating trails and ruining walking bridges.

This is our lesson, from Mother Nature herself, please don't miss it by going somewhere else.

Birds of a Feather

Phase 2: For the Birds

Doesn't it sound important when you put the "Phase" in there, like something really big is going on and you're a part of it? Doesn't always happen. In fact, in gardening, most of the time that doesn't seem to be the point.

After spending a full year revamping the garden after telling my gardener Javier we wouldn't need him anymore, we're ready to move in a few different directions. We've got a good habitat, or infrastructure, now for the animals: shrubs for cover, flowers for food, and no pesticides to spoil the treats that lay under the surface for the few skunks and raccoon we've been seeing, but I've started to think about the birds a little more lately.

Our St. Francis bird feeder (now standing more appropriately on the ground due to a broken hook) feeds the ravenous English Sparrows as well as the Mourning Doves, Scrub Jays, Mocking Birds, and recently moved in squirrel quite well. We've gone through two hummingbird feeders, the first crashing to the ground during a windstorm, refilled weekly. We could probably use two, as I've heard (and seen) these little beautiful creatures are so aggressive that any other hummingbird coming to "their" feeder better be ready for a fight. The recent turn of events is the appearance of a Hooded Oriole, as pictured above (credit, under creative commons, to bbum) feeding off the feeder. I'd seen Oriole feeders before, but we've had a hummingbird feeder for years and only within the last week have we seen one. It is really heartening to see; let's me know we're headed in the right direction.

Speaking of which, on a lark (ha! see, that was a joke) I bought a sock Finch feeder at the pet shop a couple months back and hung it on our Toyon tree. (Toyon looks very similar to holly and used to cover the entire hills around our house, which gave them their name, the Hollywood Hills.) After a full month of absolutely nothing, one Saturday the kids and I went out front and scared 5, count 'em, 5 House Finches on the sock feeding away.

They weren't very timid, either. We sat down under the feeder and they came back and started feeding again. The woman who has the garden down the street came by and Ryan had to tell her all about the birds. He's not really a shy kid, by the way.

We've been back to the pet store a few times, to fill up the sock and eventually got an actual finch feeder (a few are available, the ones from Droll Yankees are expensive, but come with a lifetime warranty, but I opted for another brand, cheaper, but made in the US as well.)

This is probably what happens to those crazy bird people, I imagine, because I've already started browsing around for birdhouses. But it's great, right? A middle-aged man without kids feeding the birds can be considered a little bit sad, but a man with kids, why he's just educating them, right?

Plus, hell, it's fun to see them out the window when you're doing the dishes.

Just Too Much

Back from Joshua Tree on Sunday. Half asleep on Monday. The winds are up and gusting at 30mph they feel as if they will blow everything over, but they will not. They are just winds.

The news broke of Vermont Tech's massacre while I was scouting a Caribbean lunch place with my coworker Karin, neither of us could really tell what was going on until later that day.

33 people massacred by an angry, confused boy.

I haven't watched the TV since and just looked at the papers today. The stories of the lives lost were hard to read.

When I turned the page, I saw that the Pulitzer prizes for journalism were handed out and this photo series on a mother's last year with her dying child stared at me from the pages.

Some days the pain in the world is just too much and you must cry, pray, or hug someone you love so hard you may think that they'll break.

The Japanese poet Issa wrote this haiku in the early 19th century, after the death of his infant daughter:

dew evaporates --
and all our life is dew:
so dear, so fresh, so fleeting

The winds will not blow us down and we will not break the ones we love.

But remember this day, remember these feelings. Fight your anger and pray, meditate, or cry until you find peace.

For some reason, I believe our future depends on it.

First Days of Spring

Rain, gloomy weather, flowers, termites. What more could you ask of spring?

Yes, I'm dealing with termites, as mentioned on my other blog, thus not worth mentioning here.

Spent the day at home with the termite inspector/fumigator writing in the studio. I'm actually in a pretty good mood, but I imagine it takes some getting used to, this working from home. I made a go of it, as I have before, but it's just so... lonely? Ah, a writer's life is lonely, unless you're stuck on a godawful TV show with a bunch of people in a room for 12 hours straight. (In that case, I'd prefer the loneliness.)

The irises have come up - they haven't been attacked by the snails just yet, but I know it's coming, it always does. Sad, but the snails love them almost as much as I do. Maybe more so.

The daylillies are coming up, which the snails could care less about, as well as the California poppies. I don't know how it is every year I invest in a big bag of poppy seeds and I'd be damned if I see more than 10 in my yard come spring. Either I'm not doing something right or there's some very full birds flying around out there.

I'm going through something (aren't I always?) which is neither quite forwards nor backwards. It's limbo almost.

We went to Eaton Canyon on Sunday with the kids for a good long hike. We were disappointed when we went in and saw the little river was empty, but it turned out we just had to hike a bit upstream 20 minutes or so to get to the water. Ryan met some 3rd graders and they spent time catching water bugs and looking for frogs.

Wendy and I talked about water and how drawn people are to it. We were so sad to see the river empty downstream, but joy came back when we saw it rushing over rocks and couldn't wait to get down near it. Much like fire, you feel strangely drawn toward it. It says something about safety, about being home, having your basic needs met. And it is just so wonderful to sit by it on a rock and hear the sounds of a splashing, laughing brook.

We should have stayed there but decided to follow the boys up on an adventure to the waterfall (pictured at the link above). We started 10 minutes after them and Lord knows arrived how many minutes later. The trail had been washed out in all sorts of places and I found myself trying to balance Abby on my front and a ten pound bag on my back (I was stupid enough to bring the Sunday Times) while trying to climb from rock to rock over the stream. Wendy and I did work pretty well together to get her across, but as the afternoon came on, the fog lifted and we were being beaten by the sun. Us with no hats or sunscreen. Did I mention my children are almost see-through they're so white? Regardless, I was the only one who got burnt. Right where my hair used to cover my forehead.

The waterfall at the end was really, really disappointing. Everyone was there picnicking and there were wrappers, bottles, and pieces of sandwiches everywhere. There was also tagging (graffiti) in places all over the waterfall, a legacy of some of the idiots in this city. In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance Robert Pirsig says of his visit to the Grand Canyon, it was odd NOT to see a bunch of beer cans piled up at the North Rim, it felt false. Just because that's how crappy it had become.

Well, maybe he should have come to the falls with us, because this certainly did look like crap. The kids, of course, didn't notice it - which is one of those wonderful things about children. They only see certain things and have trouble noticing people sleeping on the streets, taxes, murder, robbery, etc. But, honestly, I have trouble explaining those sorts of things to them. ("Hey, kids - you're not going to believe what kind of horrible world we brought you into. Sorry, but your Mom and I really, really wanted to have kids around so we wouldn't get bored. Catch you later.")

The hike back was better, mostly down hill and we knew there actually was an end in sight. We saw two deer and a woman who was, I kid you not, hiking with her pet goat. I have no idea what kind of person has a pet goat, let alone hikes with it, but there she was. (She wasn't interested, if you're wondering, in talking about the goat, mind you. I imagine every person she passes asks her about the goat and I was just one more. Maybe she should disguise it as a dog.)

I love being outside, that's the truth. And I love being busy. Both of which are a little problematic when it comes to the life of a writer, which is mostly spent indoors wandering through your brain for something good. A) Not outdoors B) Not particularly busy

Aw, hell, Frustrated Gardener, Frustrated Writer. What's the difference between friends?

90 Degrees and On Fire

The smell of night-blooming jasmine and smoke of the nearby burning Griffith Park are intermingling. The sun is up late, it seems like summer.

How long was it since I was a boy?

Just reading Rolling Stone (please don't ask, it was a gift) and going down memory lane with R.E.M. Reading Michael Stipe say, "We don't look much in the past, we're so excited about the future," and I wonder myself how long it's been since I've said as much.

I'm traveling backward some days, with my head in my hands as it were.

The scorching heat and high desert winds have set blazes 6 miles from my house and across the river and one of the nation's largest freeways (the 5). It happens a few times a year, with bright orange pictures of flaming hills splashed across the cover of the LA Times.

We found termites, again. In a wood pile I'd left by the giant timber bamboo for the last few months. They were just milling in and out like ants, busy as you please, 12 inches away from my studio.

Well here's a precarious situation, Organic Gardener meets Vermin That Eats His House.

Sorry, everyone, but this is one of those scenarios where the chemicals come on big. I call one of those places that comes and dumps chemicals aplenty down the holes, killing the queen and all her drones.

Does this mean I've failed as an organic gardener? Perhaps. But then again, my yard provides more than its share of fun stuff to do for the average skunk (we have two), hummingbird, mourning dove, and mockingbird. This is just one of those things I really can't chance with the biggest investment I'll ever make.

Termites and Taxes.

Is there any escape?

Beautiful Surprises

You know that poem someone made up about Jesus, the one called Footprints? I just had what I'd call a Footprints moment. I've been using blogger for somewhere over a year now and seeing no comments, even though a few times people have emailed me comments.

Wouldn't you know, just switching over to Google's Blogger a few moments ago and something like 10 comments appeared out of thin air. Posts from friends. I know you're there (hell, at 50,000 new blogs coming up an hour, I can't imagine many others migrating over here).

Oh, thank you friends, for your thoughts, your minutes spent here, your charity, and your posts.

This does leave me at a sort of conundrum, do I go back and answer all those old posts, which no one is going back to read anyway, or move on?

I think I'll reread them, smile, and be off to bed.

Good night, and thank you again.

72 Degrees and Sunny

(Pictured, right, the Manzanita I started growing from a twig 2 years ago, just in bloom again.)






The unusual and the usual side by side. It's one of those warm February days caused by the Santa Ana winds coming up. High today is expected to be 84, while much of the rest of the country lies buried in snow.

Once again I come back to thea fact, this is what it's like here. A man was complaining in the newspaper about the trees on his street the other day, after an article ran lauding the beauty of native species. "Do not expect me to believe that the sad brown curling leaves found on the California Sycamore can be interpreted as a beautiful harbinger of winter. They are ugly in comparison to the fireworks show of maples on the East Coast."

Bah humbug, indeed. Perhaps this guy should take himself back there. These trees have been the "beautiful harbinger of winter" for 7,000+ years and this jerk is a newcomer who misses his "real" fall. Sorry, guy, this is the real fall in Southern California. As the saying goes, If you don't like it, you can lump it. Please don't debate what is real and what is not real in the natural world when you know nothing about it. It'd be like sending a Chumash Indian to Minnesota and having him declare the snow and ice were unusual and ugly.

I often wonder about garden writers and think I'm correct in believing, like all writers, they're better at writing about what they're doing than actually doing those things themselves. I'm thinking about sports writers, garden writers, etc. I think the only exception I can think of, is cooking writers. My thought about garden writers comes from the thought that there's just not enough time to do both. Gardening seems to take more and more time in my case and it becomes somewhat of an obsession. Plus, it seems to me, whenever I see garden writers' gardens, they never seem to be completely finished. When you're a perfectionist and you take on the task of manipulating nature, you've got a pretty tough row to hoe. (If you don't mind the gardening pun.)

It's funny, sometimes, to see something a writer has written about so lyrically and you stand back and say, "That's it? This is the beautiful pond they were writing about? It's really a hole in the ground." To hear some people waxing poetic about a muddy hole filled with plants truly addresses the phrase, In the eye of the beholder. So perhaps we're better hearing their inspiring thoughts about the hole rather than visiting it ourselves and taking our interpretations along with us.

I probably need to come to the conclusion that my garden will never be finished, but rather a work-in-progress. And also need to understand my obsessive behavior means that I should put limitations on the hours I spend out toiling in the garden. Otherwise, I tend to get a little crazy and very worn out by the time evening comes. (The workout each week, since I got rid of my gardener, I think, along with my higher fiber diet, helped lower my cholesterol to the point my doctor was no longer recommending medicine for me.)

I read about meditative joy, and I realize at some point I actually lose that joy and move into some weird dark area. Of course, that dark area seems to be around more when I'm inside doing housework. And joy seems to be an essential component I want in my life. I just need to be wise about getting to it.

Naming Things

The rain has come back, but it's light. I think the fact that I started to wash and wax my wife's car brought it. Raked up some of the magnolia leaves, they're heavy, like cardboard and tend to smother anything little underneath them. The little California poppies have begun to rise out of the mulch, which is always amazing to me, no matter how many times I see it. You may know already, I'm not the happiest of people, though people mistake me for being one most of the time, but those little sprouts are one of the few things on God's green Earth that moves my heart.

The others? Seeing my children play. Being in church and hearing singing (even if I'm a non-believer). Favorite songs. The beginning of most movies.

I guess that's a lot more things than I thought there'd be.

Met Jimmy Williams again at the Farmer's Market in Hollywood. He's the man who brought back his grandmother's tomato, the Goosecreek tomato, singlehandedly. (Hannah over at This Garden is Illegal has a wonderful post on it.) He's such a wonderful and thoughtful gardener. Was giving me his secrets to growing wonderful tomatoes, and I discovered, as I discover time and again, I am a Frustrated Gardener. I read a quarter of what I need to, try it anyway, and usually end up in disaster. For some reason this sort of jump-in-the-fire thinking isn't in all of my hobby forays. I'm a meticulous cook and writer. But gardening. Hmmm, gardening. There are just so many directions. And when you've got monkey mind, as I do, going out to the garden can lead you in more directions than you're ready for. (Much like the Internet, I've found.)

I probably sound like more of a wreck than I am. But maybe that's the same with all of us.

I spent last year pursuing a more environmentally-conscious living, and, by gum, I was actually able to do it. I just took everything in small steps and kept the steps posted where I saw them every day, by the calendar, right above the toaster and coffee maker. I had plans this year, but where are they now? In a drawer somewhere, I imagine. Well, I'm familiar with those things I need to do: get another IRA, move up a level in yoga and continue to go once a week (if you're laughing, I beg you to join me, this may be pain like you haven't felt since high school football), ride my bike more, meditate more.

The garden, well, the year since taking over the garden from Javier isn't quite over yet and it's been a rousing success. (I said "rousing".) I haven't mowed my lawn in 3 weeks, and to be honest, I don't know what the hell he was doing in my garden all winter long. The big project, taking the leaves, shredding them, then putting them on newspaper spread on the garden floor, won't be completed until early summer, I'm guessing. But, as I've said before, if you're in a hurry, don't take up gardening. It's really an anti-city task. Or maybe an antidote-city task.

The manzanita is flowering and just beautiful with little white bells all throughout the interior. I've managed to keep it from leaning too far into the sidewalk, which I hadn't imagined it'd do when I stuck it's twiggy self into the ground. The nearby Catalina poppy blocked so much of the sun, the sidewalk was one of the few places the manzanita had to go to get some. (You never imaging they'll get big, do you?)

The back yard looks good, but still needs a few tweaks, which will be my next post.

I mean, if you're still listening.

God Head

A new year and so much newness has gone to pot already.

Not in the garden, thankfully, all is quiet, all is bright. I haven't mowed the grass in three weeks, which is a relief. If I was smart, I'd have my mower blade sharpened. Luckily, for me and my laziness, I'm not that smart.

Many times I'm out in the garden I look around in wonder. Other times, I look around and wonder. I wonder stuff like, "What the hell am I doing out here?" I really wish I could answer that question. I ask it at work, too, many time. And at home. I don't ask it when I'm with my children. I know what I'm doing here, but when I'm asking such questions, I worry that I may not be the best influence on my kids. I think they need someone more positive, more outgoing, someone of strong with plenty of faith. In other words, someone else.

I lost my faith in the last year or so. I would love to say it happened quite gradually, but it didn't, it came as a direct result of working toward faith. Growing up, as a child, I went to church every Sunday and all the holy days (which, in the Catholic faith, there are many). I considered myself a believer, but by 18 I was ready to give up my faith entirely.

The strange thing, really, is how often I thought of myself as a lapsed Catholic or Christian at that time. "Well," I would think, "I'm a Christian, but I just have a few problems with going to church." Which was true enough, but I wasn't really taking the time to go back to church and find out what those problems were precisely. When Ryan was young, Wendy and I began going back to church (oops, she was going for the first time). I decided to take this seriously and start taking a Bible study course. Yes, there I was, in the middle of Hollywood, alive with aspiring actors, musicians, producers, and writers, wanting forever to talk about themselves and their projects learning about God, Moses, Jesus, Abraham... you know, all the biggies.

I studied hard. I tried to believe. I prayed for guidance, I prayed, as ridiculously as it might seem, for faith. I tried for 3 years, at the end of which I found out I don't believe at all.

It was a startling revelation, but one who had been nibbling at my brain for quite some time. Many of the faithful at this point will jump up and say maybe I didn't have the right teacher or maybe I wasn't studious enough. Maybe that's true. But then again, maybe they don't know what it's like to experience faith in another person's shoes.

I love my family, most of whom are devout Catholics and wonderful people, and it was hard to tell my mother over Christmas vacation that I was an agnostic. She really didn't want to believe it, which I don't blame her for. I'm sure she wants me to be a joy to God and worship Him. But I had to go through this story and tell her by the end of all this study and prayer, that I didn't believe the basic tenet of Christianity, that Jesus is the Messiah. And that, to me, is reason enough to not go to a Christian church and pretend to be a believer. I mean, if it's true, I'm a hypocrite for attending for my children's and society's sake. Jesus will be aware of that. And if Jesus is not the Messiah, then I'm wasting mine and everyone else's time.

It's funny, because the Catholic church is one of the few places I've met people who are sort-of faithful. People who go to church because their family and society expect it of them. It's a bit sticky for me, as my son is going to a Catholic school. I'm still working out quite how to explain this to him. I mean, here are all these people saying this thing is true, and here's Dad over here who doesn't believe it. It might be a little freaky. But, honestly, I'd rather have it this way than have he and his sister accuse me of being a hypocrite when he's 12 years old.

I wish I did have faith. It'd make some things that much easier, but I just don't.

Do I believe there's a God? Maybe. I'm not really sure. Some say you'd have to be pretty arrogant to think you could figure out whether there's a God or not, but I'm not sure I'm really biting. I know certain things which have nothing to do with faith, like meditation, love, and childbirth open you up to mysteries no one will ever be able to explain. Does that mean there's a God?

At this point, I just don't know.