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.