where did i put my mittens?

It's true that we Santa Barbarans don't get much in terms of changing seasons, but I swear that when I stepped outside the day after Thanksgiving, there was something different in the air. And it was more than just the subtly cooler temperature. The breeze that rushed past me held some old familiar wintery aroma. I inhaled and was back in the driveway of my childhood home, scraping the frost off of my windshield with the case of an old cassette tape. There's nothing like the Christmas season to make me nostalgic.

I unravelled my Christmas memories with a mess of stringed lights yesterday afternoon. Those snowy Saturday afternoons when my sisters and I pulled our old ornaments out of their boxes were some of the dearest times in my early years. I could go on all day retelling those old stories, but I won't. It would probably bore you. For the first few years after moving out West, I wouldn't allow Christmas to enter our home. I needed to take a stand against the commercialism and materialism that the holiday is so tangled up with. But something changed in the past couple of years, and I've cracked the back door open and quietly invited it back in -- the red and green and tinsle and gingerbread and any holiday accessory that really does make my heart jump if I stand there for a while and really look at it well.

It's nearly winter down here, and the old heaters are putting some warmth in the rooms. The cat's taken a liking to sleeping in our bed again, and we're playing Christmas songs in the far room where we can look out onto the street spotted with the holiday lights of our neighbors'. I even hear that the mountains we see from our living room are likely to have snow on them before the year is out.

just another night in the neighborhood

Last night we decided to walk downtown, get some coffee, and maybe grab a quick dinner before heading back home to continue working on a little recording project we've been experimenting with. While we were waiting for our food, Jon noticed a poster advertising a concert at a little theatre down the street. He told me who it was. "Ray Lamontagne. . . ," I thought, "haven't I heard that name somewhere? Yes! I just read an article about him in Paste Magazine!" We started talking about how much fun it would be to go over and see if there were tickets, not really expecting it to work out. We came to the conclusion that if it was meant to be, there would be tickets when we got to the theatre. Two seats were waiting for us when we arrived. We snatched them up and waited for the doors to open.

David Ford was first on stage, and was the most compelling opener we can remember seeing in a long time. He looped his voice, piano and guitar parts, and some suitcase-pounding percussion to fill out his one-man show. I've been working on writing lyrics lately and have struggled with trying to make every single line beautiful and somewhat complex. David's songs told me that it isn't lyrics alone that will make our songs good. It's the way the music, the lyrics and our presence all work together to create an experience for listeners. It was a welcomed message from something outside of myself, and I tucked it into a place in my memory where I'd be able to take it out and read it frequently

During the intermission, Jon got up for a moment. The next thing I knew, he had dropped into the seat next to me and whispered into my ear, "LOOK BEHIND YOU." I made a half-assed attempt at being nonchalant about turning my head to look, and hopefully had no visible reaction when I saw this guy:

The music began again. Ray's calming music and whispery voice put me in a state of stillness I usually only find when I have spent an entire day relaxing. A couple of songs later, he started to open up his voice and really let it loose. Damn! This man had a vocal depth and power that completley knocked me over. In between songs, we started hearing a very drunk audience member in the aisle just to our right making his requests known to Ray. "EVERY TIME!" he shouted. I suppose that's the name of a song he wanted to hear. Jon had a better view of him than I did, and leaned over to inform me, "He's taking off his shoes now. oh.. . and socks." When I finally looked over, he also had his shirt off. I quickly looked away, not wanting this inebriated man to ruin my experience. But out of the corner of my eye, I could not help but notice the form of this shirtless man dancing in a very oompa-loompa sort of way, and I started to laugh. And Jon started to laugh. And Ted Danson started to laugh. Mr. Shirtless, who was sporting a lovely pair of suspenders over his flat chest, was swinging his arms around in a circle as fast as he could, and none of us could STOP LAUGHING.

The show was good, we walked home and went to bed. Yep, just another uneventful night in our neighborhood.

the sun's coming up

These changes came softly. For the first week or so I was too busy to notice, my head down, intently sorting through boxes, streets and cupboards. But when I got still and looked around, all I saw was beauty I'd never really known before. When I walked through town, all I found were calm, contented people, quick to offer ideas and a warm welcome. When I headed a mile or so South, all I saw was ocean, ocean, ocean. And I heard myself thinking, "No way is this my home. it's just too good."

The shape of my days is so vastly different than it ever has been. I arrive at work when my feet have taken me there, and I'm free to make my own schedule. This job involves quite a bit of responsibility, and it's the first time I've worked a full 40-hour week in a few years, but I've never had so little stress at work. It must have something to do with my confidence in myself, my boss' confidence in me, and the fact that I am surrounded by therapists all day. Before we left the Bay Area, I kept thinking how nice it would be to at least have a counselor-type of person in my life. Now I have 25 of them.

In the evenings Jon and I eat dinner sitting in our built-in booth, then usually we walk downtown to get some tea, do a little shopping, or just enjoy what the night lighting does to the local scenery. We run into people we know nearly every day, which really makes this place feel like a small town. Actually, it is. The population in this city is slightly less than in South Bend, Indiana. But in many ways, it feels like we live in a big city. Somehow we've landed somewhere with the best of both worlds. If the price of housing wasn't so high, I'd say I'd never leave.

I'm thinking about adding a "visitor calendar" to my blog. I want to share my new surroundings with all of you friends and family members, not to make you jealous, but because beauty does good things to people, and there's quite an abundance of it here. I'm trying to digest the fact that this IS my home now. I guess sometimes we get a whole lot more than what we ask for.

pinching myself

Before things get too crazy, I thought I should sit down and lay down a record of the developments that have occurred so far with our move to Santa Barbara. If I don't do it now, I probably won't do it for another month So even though it's difficult to gather my thoughts sitting in the disarray that has taken over our house, I will attempt to relay what has happened over the past few days.

Just before we left for our house-hunting weekend on Friday, I received a call from the director of a non-profit counseling center where I had applied for an office manager position a few days earlier. He asked if he might take 30 minutes of my weekend to try to get a feel for who I was, since he was mainly looking for someone with the right personality for the job. I agreed and quickly packed some halfway presentable clothes for our meeting.

Saturday morning, we grabbed our messy handwritten list of properties to check out, stopped at a local bakery, and began our hunt for a new place to call home. After sitting in a property management company's lobby for half an hour just to find out that the properties we were interested in were either not viewable or already rented, we were excited to go take a look at an apartment close to downtown that was being rented out by a local guy named Mark. At first glance, this place already started to make us smile. It's in a 4-plex that was built in 1925, has all hardwood floors (except for the cool, vintage black & white tiles in the kitchen and bathroom), and has loads of character. We got to talking with the landlord, a friendly, laid-back guy whose family has owned the building for 25 years, and he mentioned that we were only 3 blocks from the Santa Barbara Bowl. Jon and I both shouted, "we saw Radiohead there a few years ago!" To which Mark replied, "I was at that show too! I am crazy about Radiohead!" We took another look around the place, and decided to email our application when we returned to the hotel. We looked at a couple of other places, but none of them made our hearts get up and dance a little like that great old apartment on Anapamu (pronounced A-nuh-pum-moo).

We left our friends Josh and Sarah at the hotel to take naps (Jon and I really wear our friends out), and drove to Montecito where I was set to meet the director of the counseling center. I was warmly welcomed by him, and we had a lovely time filling each other in about ourselves and the organization. I won't go into too much detail about it, but I was thoroughly impressed by what they're doing in the community, and started to really get excited about the opportunity to work there. My interviewer asked what the address was of the apartment we wanted, and after I told him, he replied, "You know, you'll be able to walk to work. The office is 4 blocks from there." That pretty much sealed the deal for me. I wanted the job.

Sunday right before we were going to drive to the airport to come home, Mark called to offer us the apartment. We accepted it without hesitation, sped over to his house and put down our deposit. Today after the director of the counseling center checked my references, he called and offered me the job. I start a week from Tuesday. I'll help out with preparations for a big fundraising event they're having on 10/7, come back home to finish packing, move down, take about a week off, then start working again.

There's a huge park a couple of blocks from our new place. We rested there for a while on Sunday afternoon. Here's a picture of one of our new neighbors we found there.

finding good things

We just returned home from a weekend in Yosemite. Considering that it was a spur-of-the-moment getaway, it's amazing how it all fell into place. We found one available tent cabin at a great "rustic mountain resort" called Yosemite Bug, a cheap, fun place to stay. It did me a world of good to spend a few days not caring how I looked, being away from my computer, and in a starkly different, beautiful environment.

Saturday morning, after savoring every last bite of our blueberry buckwheat pancakes at the cafe, we swung our rested legs into the car and drove into Yosemite Valley. We hadn't been there in about 6 years. It is truly a facinatingly beautiful place. When people first set their eyes on something as enormous and magnificent as Half Dome or El Capitan, they turn into children again for a moment. There is nothing you can do but stand there and be filled with wonder. Some of the peoples' faces I saw looked almost puzzled, as if they were thinking, "Can this be real?". We drove further into the heart of the park and stopped in Tuolumne Meadows where we found the trailhead that led to Cathedral Lake.

Jon and I had a whole lot of thinking to do over the weekend. We'd been presented with a real opportunity to relocate, and although it wouldn't involve moving terribly far from where we live now, it isn't a matter we were taking lightly. No longer was this possibility a creation of our assumptions and imaginations -- it was there in black and white, right in front of us, and right within our reach. So while we hiked up the sometimes steep trail that led us to thinner and thinner air, we talked. We squinted to look closer at what was in front of us, and stepped back, to the left and to the right, trying to see this opportunity from every angle possible. Then the actual scenery around us really started to show off, so we reacted the only way a person really can in the presence of something this beautiful -- we stopped and let this surreal world amaze us.





By the time we made it back to the car, we had made a lot of progress toward a decision about whether or not we should pack up our cat and move. Being out where the air is so free of pollution and the land is so uncorrupted and uncommercialized by humans had a remarkable effect on our states of mind. I don't remember when we had been this calm before.

After another delicious dinner at the cafe, we stayed there in the lodge where Jon read and I wrote in my journal. Sitting comfortably with our herbal tea, we spotted a game on the shelf and decided to give it a shot. While we trash-talked our way through two action-packed rounds of Skip-Bo, we quietly heckled the band playing just outside the doors on the deck. How can someone actually be into reggae? I'm sorry, I know I'm a music snob, but these guys were horrible. No, Mr. Lead Singer going overboard with your reverb levels, I am NOT feeling "irie", so please stop asking!

Before I stop, I have to say -- if any of you friends ever want to hike up to Cathedral Lake and want a couple of tour guides or just a bit of company for the journey, give us a ring. We're available most weekends and only charge a small fee.

For more photos of our weekend, go here: www.flickr.com/photos/69635962@N00

maybe it's too late

A few days ago, I was planning on writing about the idea that we are capable of more than we think we are. It was something I was learning in my own life, and thought it would be an encouraging thing to put out there. But my confidence started to give way, and my mind was taken over by an army of all-encompassing negative thoughts. It was very unsettling, to say the least. Who let these guys in? I don't know how to defend myself against thoughts I at least partially buy into. I found myself wanting to push them all out of the way, but at the same time, turning my ear and allowing myself to look for evidence of truth in these self-defeating words. How easy that was was even more unsettling. I really DO feel that I have wasted much of my life. It DOES seem like the mistakes I have made and missteps I have taken could reach around the world and back. I DO feel hopelessly stuck in an unstimulating, unfulfilling life, and I have no idea where to go from here.

I want to do more than just survive from day to day. There is an unignorable urge in me to be out in the world, affecting and influencing people on a larger scale than just a handful of co-workers. I know that's the direction in which I need to go, but today I am just spinning around, batting at these terrible thoughts, unable to take another step in any direction.


This photo doesn't go well with what I wrote, but I'm going to use it anyway.

i'm still here... sort of.

In the book I'm reading, the author wrote of the years he waited for a wife, "Now that I look back, it seems to me that in all that deep darkness a miracle was preparing. So I am right to remember it as a blessed time, and myself as waiting in confidence, even if I had no idea what I was waiting for." I've been waiting an awful lot these days, for a number of things. This author implies that what he was waiting for would be divinely given, and that even the time he waited for it was somehow part of a plan of sorts. There was a day not too long ago when I would have absolutely agreed with this idea. But if I'm honest with myself, I really don't know how much divine influence pushes us along, holds us back, or brings new things into view. I was watching the newest U2 concert DVD last night, and during one of the songs, a phrase appeared on the huge backdrop behind the band. It said, "Everything you know is wrong." On some level, I have to admit that I believe there's a lot of truth in that statement. I am elbow-deep in questions about what I thought I knew about God, relationships, ideals . . . It's one of the reasons I haven't been writing on my blog. I have so many questions and random thoughts darting in and out of my mind. When I consider writing an entire entry about one thought, it feels overwhelming, and I throw in the towel before I've even attempted to work through my scatteredness.

Today I realized that it's better to even post those random thoughts than to continue to neglect my writing. But of course, now I can't even remember what any of those thoughts were.

Oh wait -- here's one: I am so thankful to have a husband who surprises me so well. I came home to find a keyboard in the living room the other night. Been playing it ever since. These fingers are a bit rusty, but they loosen up quickly.

my hero

I know it sounds silly, but I have such a new admiration and respect for my husband since he finished a full marathon this past Sunday. His trusty legs carried him over the Golden Gate bridge, up and down the hills of San Francisco and back to the Embarcadero by the bay. I kept tabs on where he was with his text messages and met him at a couple of mile markers to cheer him on and take some photos. It was the hardest thing he's ever done. The first words out of his mouth after he crossed the finish line were, "I'm never doing that again." I rushed around to the food booths, snatching up any bit of nourishment I could find. I handed him a cheese quesadilla, and he threw it on the ground. I can't blame him -- what's a cheese quesadilla doing in the post-marathon refreshments selection? Anyway, I took some photos along the course and by the finish line so we could share them with all of you.

fork in the road

We can continue on the road we're on, or start over someplace new. It's not an easy matter to consider. We got a small taste of what this different life could be like this past weekend. Its natural beauty almost made us delirious. We never imagined we could end up someplace so ideal. And maybe we won't, but at this point it's still a possibility.


I realize that this relocation business has consumed my thoughts over the past month or so. I really don't know how to avoid that, but I think I need to figure out a way to continue actually living my life where I am. Singing and writing music got set aside at some point, and I want to pick it back up again. That's just hard to do when my heart is already somewhere else.

worth all the waiting

After months of anticipation, we threw our bags into our car on Friday and headed down to Cambria for Josh and Sarah's wedding. My aggravated nerves about playing the piano and singing at the ceremony held some of my enjoyment back until the ceremony began. But I'm already moving forward with my recap too quickly -- let me back up a bit.

Friday evening after the rehearsal dinner, the bride, her bridesmaids, and a few others (including me!) met at a hot springs spa in Paso Robles. For two hours we indulged in some much-needed rest while we shared stories, drank wine, and offered words of preparation to Sarah, the bride. While I sat there surrounded by these women, I remembered a part of a book I read called The Red Tent where the women of a village spent days tending to women who were about to be married, painting the bride's face and hands with intricate designs, braiding her hair, bringing her sweet wine, and clothing her with luxurious fabrics. So in some ways, the evening at the spa felt sacred to me.

The wedding itself was probably the best one I've ever attended, as far as I'm concerned. The music for the processional was a Sigur Ros song (Glossoli), perhaps the most perfect song I can think of for such an occasion. I wonder if there was a single square inch of skin in that sanctuary without chills as the back doors opened and the radiant bride was presented to her awe-struck groom. If you know what a precious couple these two are, then you understand how full my heart was as I listened to them exhange their vows of committment to each other. Jon and I enjoyed playing our song more than any time we practiced it, and felt quite good about how it came out. And then the bride and groom kissed. And kissed. And kissed and kissed and kissed. . .



The reception was held in a big, open barn. An alcove was decorated in vintage wallpaper and fabric where guests were invited to come have their pictures taken wearing vintage hats, scarves, and other fun accessories. It was a guest book of sorts, where people wrote their message to Josh & Sarah on a chalkboard and held it while their photos were taken. A good friend of the happy couple (and mine!), Julie, made a decadent chocolate raspberry cake. We all hoarded our pieces of it and savored every bite.



We had so many good conversations, made exciting new connections with people we'd not really known before . . . it all just gave more fuel to the Santa Barbara fire that's in us. As we walked back to our car, I told Jon that I felt like the whole weekend was like the climax of the processional song. We were surrounded by so much beauty, joy. . . just so much intense goodness. Coming off of that left me feeling a bit disoriented, but mostly just more whole and content.

Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Demolar.

down is the new up

There's nothing like a Radiohead show (especially at such a small venue) to give me an injection of creative inspiration and ambition. After last night's show, all I want to do is lock myself in my house with some musical instruments and recording equipment and write, write, write.

Their songs have never sounded better, most likely due to the amazing quality of the sound at the Greek Theatre. They opened with Airbag, then went right into 2+2=5. I wasn't all that excited that we'd get to hear their new music, because usually it takes me a few listens before I fall in love with Radiohead's stuff. But nearly every new song they performed blew me away right off the bat. It's some really amazing stuff that doesn't just amaze the mind -- it stirs your soul. Their genuis runs so deep -- they truly never cease to amaze me with what they come up with. It was all I could do not to hop into my car and follow their tour bus to their next stop.

sunny seattle

After sitting in traffic at the US/Canada border for God knows how long, we made it to Seattle in time for lunch on Tuesday. We checked into our hotel, which was one of the coolest places I've ever stayed (the ace hotel). We were within walking distance to lots of shopping, and (thank you God) lots of really, really good coffee. At this point, we were totally in relaxed vacation mode -- yes, the day before we were heading home! It's pathetic, I know.




It seemed like we walked the entire city of Seattle that afternoon. Our feet were aching by the time we got back to the hotel. Upon the friendly man at the front desk's recommendation, we went to Cafe Flora for dinner. The atrium where we sat is kind of like an indoor greenhouse, and the food was incredible. I don't know if it was the wine or our exhaustion, but Jon and I laughed through most of our meal.



We found so many great shops with interesting clothes and home stuff. In a lot of ways, I liked Seattle more than Vancouver. It's not so urban, and also has these great neighborhoods where it seems like people know each other. Because it rains so much, the trees and grass and plants are SO green! Everyone told me that before we left, but I didn't realize how striking it would be, and also how ugly the landscape back home would seem. And every cup of coffee we had was pretty much perfect. Our favorite place was practically across the street from our hotel. It's supposed to be one of the best bakeries in town as well. We're not arguing.




It was lovely to sleep in our own bed last night, but I feel so differently about things now that I'm back. This area just seems, well . . . boring to me. Boring and lifeless. I also want to totally redecorate after being around so much inspiring home design in our hotels and the shops we found. I think I'll have to wait on that one though. The ball is officially rolling to get us out of here. .

redemption songs

Let's see, where did I leave off? On Sunday Jon and I drove down to the Kitsilano area of Vancouver for some shopping and relaxing. We ended up down by the water because it was such a beautiful day. Everyone was out enjoying the sun. Out of all of the neighborhoods in the city, Kitsilano is my favorite area of Vancouver. Lots of my kind of shopping, and I love the beach there. I've never been somewhere where I could see the ocean, forests, mountains, and a big city all from one place.





The next day, we decided that we really needed to get out of the city and into nature. One thing I realized about myself is that being in big cities with lots of traffic, people, countless skyscrapers, advertisements, stores, and signs wears me out! So at this point in the trip, I was quite exhausted. We went to Lynn Canyon where they have a FREE suspension bridge, and some hiking trails surrounded by lush forests and amazingly clear creeks. They have a huge sign at one of the trailheads illustrating how injuries and death can result from being crazy out on the trails.


It was just easier for both of us to think while we were out on the trails. Although we had been discussing the possibility of moving away from the area quite a bit during our vacation, this is when the best conversations happened, and when we came to a good conclusion. And I started to imagine what our new, fresh start could be like.





I love this next photo because it's this old, dead stump completely surrounded by such flourishing life.



On our way home from hiking, Jon had the idea that we stop in Horseshoe Bay. We didn't really know how to get there or what we would find, but had heard that it was a nice place to go, so we went for it. Our mouths dropped open when we pulled into our parking space and saw what a beautiful spot we had happened upon.



As I was getting settled on a bench with the novel I'm reading, Jon said he wanted to go check something out and walked away. A few minutes later, he excitedly walked back and asked, "You want to rent a boat?" They have speedboats available and it's cheap!" It sounded good to me, and within 10 minutes we were in our little 15-foot speedboat, deciding which islands we wanted to check out. The water and mountains all around us were breathtaking, and - get this - it was SUNNY! We were out on the water, and there wasn't a rain cloud in sight!




One thing we didn't anticipate was how choppy the water would be. We were out on the ocean, after all. Jon did most of the navigating, but handed the wheel over to me briefly. Here I am reacting to the waves. I hope no one heard me screaming.

mid-trip update

We decided to skip the suspension bridge once we found out how much it costs to walk across it. Instead we took a ferry to Granville Island, which turned out to be mostly a tourist trap. We did, however, appreciate that a lot of the shops had hand-made merchandise, and you could watch the workers hammering out metal for jewelry, working with hot glass, and making shoes. Here's Jon enjoying some gelato at a coffee shop. I love the dog in this picture.




We spent most of the rest of the day on Robson street, the major shopping area in Vancouver. We stopped in at the Aveda Academy because we had to get a closer look at their earthy version of a chandelier.



It's taken us a while to rest up and allow ourselves to be in 'vacation mode'. I keep thinking that we need to stop spending money, and to always be out doing something. But the reality is - we have enough money, and we have an abundance of time. Why is that so difficult for me to accept?

Late Friday morning we decided to do this kayaking thing we'd looked forward to so much. The water out there was mezmorizing -- the perfect evenness and subtle ripples on the surface could have put me to sleep had I not been paddling through it.






Jon and I were in a tandem kayak, all sealed up in our seats with our lunch in the storage compartment. Our plan was to paddle out for an hour or so and pull up on a beach on Twin Island. On the way there, we noticed some dark clouds ahead of us. Why is it that every time Jon and I decide to go on on water in any sort of boat or kayak, the sky turns gray and a downpour eliminates any hopes we have of staying remotely dry? I'm not exagerrating here. It happens *every time*. Here's our proof for this one --



When the rain started coming down so hard, I had a choice: do I flip out, or laugh? It was a struggle, but I chose the latter option. To be alone out on the ocean in a tiny kayak, the rain violently dancing on the water and completely blurring my vision, well, I have certainly never experienced anything like it before. I thought, "if nothing else, I am really living right now. I'm not sitting in front of a television. Am I safe? At least at this moment, I don't really care."

The rain clouds did eventually retreat, and Jon and I enjoyed our picnic lunch on a rocky island. That beach we were headed for was never found, but I like where we ended up a lot more than a beach. Besides, it's so much more fun to stray from our plans rather than follow them.