To my 2 beautiful angels on July 10th.

Then, today and every day . . .

You touched my life with your magic and you taught me to believe.

Love, and thinking of you always.

~ John Aaron

I’d become a hermit.

I work from home, and that made it easy. I spent my days in pajamas and my nights in front of the TV. I didn’t shave anything anywhere in weeks, my unwashed hair was streaked with grey. I had my meals delivered and stole from my landlord’s garden. I began to peer out the windows suspiciously whenever I heard someone pull into the yard.

Okay it wasn’t that bad, but close. I’ve not written in my blog, not shared what’s going on with me, not cared what’s going on with you, not been at all outgoing or social, a genuine part of my nature. And that’s been ok. Over the past few months, I’ve need this time to myself. And I truly like my Alone Time.

But after awhile, it started to get depressingly comfortable. Going out felt like too much work and even getting showered and dressed to go for groceries took several hours. Except for the occasional coffee break and a couple of planned ahead dates on the town, it was just easier to do yoga with iTunes than go to class, easier to be quiet than talk out loud. Most of my time I occupied with work, email and browsing Facebook. Seriously, I probably checked my email no less than 100 times a day. I’d wander over to the computer between feeding the dogs and pouring a cup of coffee, hit the refresh button on my way past to the bathroom, head down to check the mail and glance back out the corner of my eye.

Then the wireless router died. And it became immediately obvious how much these activities filled my space and occupied my time. Suddenly, like the calm before the storm, my world got strangely, eerily but beautifully, quiet. Just me, the wind whistling through the trees, those Ojai mountains sitting silent under blue skies. And a computer screen screaming that it can’t connect to the server. I couldn’t get my fix. I was addicted, only instead of wine or caffeine or food, it was the internet and that false sense of belonging that comes with a new mail message or a friend request, the illusion that I was being productive when I’d spent two hours reading about whatever happened to the cast of What’s Happening!! The anxious security of need-based attachment. Having that thing at my fingertips and thinking that I’m going to miss something big if I walk away.

Based on my own experiences, I believe we use addictions to hide from truths about ourselves, to remove ourselves from what’s maybe painful or scary, to drown out or stuff down the voice of God talking to our divine spiritual self. We shut out our creativity, our flexibility, our potential. And we essentially become detached. Since it’s my story, I believe too that breaking my router was the way the Universe chose to get me off my rear and out of the house. I hit the refresh again, and showered, refresh and dressed, refresh and breakfast. Finally I drove down into Ojai and settled myself into a corner of Ojai Coffee Roasting with my laptop, a view of the street, and a large cup of dark black coffee. Yes, I worked and yes, I checked my email. But I also watched the world going by outside on the street. I listened to the people around me, engaged and enthusiastic conversations.

Turns out it was one of the best days I’ve had in the four months I’ve lived here. And I didn’t really even speak to anyone. Just the act of getting outside and into the sunlight and into the world was enough. To hear life going on around me, was enough. To feel that I am a part of something that is larger than me, and that I am connected to that energy, was enough. To escape self–inflicted boundaries and addicted mindsets and embrace life, was enough. To know that I am alive ~ that alone promises possibility. That alone is enough. In fact, it is everything.

And just so ya know. The coffee’s not bad, either.

My corner view of the world in Ojai Coffee Roasters

Outside Ojai Coffee Roasters

I’ve been a little out of touch because I’ve been a lot out of sorts.

Since I spent 3 hours trying to write about that with minimal progress, I’ll save it for later. What I want to talk about is the orange chair. Several people have asked me about the chair in the photograph on my blog. Was it really on the beach? Did I haul it there? Was it actually orange? Even more than that, I’ve had a few of you tell me how much you like it. As Rebecca at Altared Spaces said, “Something inside me just went “Ahhh” when I saw it.” Thanks, Rebecca! The Orange Chair was essentially my first attempt at creativity as an adult ~ you know, after you’ve had all the spontaneity and freedom beat out of you. For several reasons, it holds a special place with me.

My niece Carrie and I stumbled on the chair during a morning beach walk back in July 2006. Apparently, late in the middle of a hot summer night, somebody had a bonfire on the sand and needed a place to plop. Not having a lounge chair or a towel, they decided it would be a good thing to drag their living room furniture down to water’s edge. If that chair could talk, I’m sure it would have some stories to tell about the night it spent on the sand next to a big roaring fire. I’m not quite sure I’d really want to know all of its secrets because I may be sorry I sat on it, but it survived the night, didn’t get washed out with the tide and was beached like a shipwreck just waiting for us to find it.

The coastline was full of people that morning but oddly enough, no one else seemed to notice the chair. Everybody was walking by like it wasn’t even there. We decided to go back with my camera that evening and after asking the woman in a lounger to the left of the chair, “Is this seat taken?” (we couldn’t resist) we spent the next few minutes posing for posterity. This picture is one of my favorites. Carrie was visiting, Pearl was still happy and healthy and it was one of those hot summer evenings where everything was right with our world.

Carrie, Pearl and me in the orange chair.

I printed out the original shot and one of my friends saw the picture. She’s always been a big believer in everything I do, so I decided to take the original and get a little creative with it. The idea was simple: keep the chair orange while converting the background to black and white. This was my first attempt at post-processing digital prints and the process for me was nothing but easy. If you know anything about Photoshop, this can be done in about 5 minutes. I however, have no less than 30 drafts and probably hundreds of hours invested in the finished product. In the first version I actually clicked my way painfully around the chair, deleted it out, changed the background tones, and pasted the chair back into place. I venture to say here that art often imitates life: I do tend to do things numerous times and the hard way before I figure out the easiest, best way for me.  But I’m not going to get heavy here so we will leave it at that.

Several people got the print for Christmas that year and from there, the whole photography creativity thing was born. It’s been slow-growing, but I’m a big believer in synchronicity and I know there are no accidents. From my orange painted walls to Orange the doll to Orange Drive, I’ve learned to open myself up to the orange, so to speak. The print is actually titled Possibility . . . Because of this chair, I’ve had a couple of small shows, made a few sales, started my photography website and met one of my best friends when she saw the print hanging on the wall of the gym. And I finally took the chance to start writing a bit more than just what hides in my journal. When it came time to name my blog, The Orange Chair was really the only option. It is from here I celebrate synchronicity, creativity and possibility. And it is from there that I learn who I am. 

The original photograph.

The Orange Chair, aka Possibility . . .

Living Out Loud. (v16). The people in your neighborhood.

Tell about your neighborhood, past, present or future.

Yep, I think I’ll just go home, take a nap, go over to Thelma Lou’s later, and watch a little tv.
Yep go home, take a nap, over to Thelma Lou’s, watch a little tv.
Yeah I think I’ll go home, take a nap, go over to Thelma Lou’s and watch a little tv.
~ Barney Fife talking on Andy’s Porch. The Andy Griffith Show

I started to make a list of all the neighborhoods I’ve lived in during my life, but I don’t have all day. A quick mental count puts it somewhere around twenty-six. I think I’ve missed a couple in there somewhere. One day I’m going to sit down and make two lists: one that references every job I’ve ever had and one that lists every place I’ve ever lived. At first glance, it’s a truly mind-boggling, staggering use of ink. And on one level, definitely kind of funny. I mean, seriously. Before I moved across country last December, one of my friends apologized for not making it to my going-away party: “But look at it this way, I made it to the last three out of four. . . “  On a deeper note, those places I’ve lived and the journey between them represent my life. It may seem a little neurotic, scattered, or confused from the outside but well, it is my life. I make no apologies and I strive for no regrets.

Over the past 5 months I’ve gone from a wooded beach community on the east coast to Los Angeles, arguably one of the biggest neighborhoods in the world, to residing in an above-garage apartment at the top of a quarter-mile driveway shared with three other houses, situated 2.5 miles outside a Southern California mountain town with a population of about 8200. What I’ve come to realize is that while I’m not necessarily destined to be a metropolitan city girl, I’m not quite ready for the country life, either. As much as I love me some solitude, a little bit of MeTime goes a long way, and too much of my own company is about to drive me crazy.

I’m not new to the country, having lived both in the the mountains and the farmlands of Virginia while growing up. I have fond memories of playing at the creek (or to be entirely honesty, in the creek) with my sisters and the one or two friends that lived nearby, but even then I preferred the small town atmosphere of our hometown. That is where I felt connected, and that is where I felt I belonged. Neighbors close but not on top of you, your friends and the general store for a Coke in walking distance. People who know you. Hey, if I could live in Mayberry, I would.

So it should come as no surprise to me that over the past couple of months I’ve begun to miss my  ‘hood, nestled between the inlets and marshes of a state park and the Chesapeake Bay. Walking distance to the beach, the gym, grocery store, coffee shop and restaurants. Fourth of July festivals, oyster festivals, the Santa parade, Halloween parties, courtesy of the neighborhood civic association. A bike path travels the length of the community, winds through the state park, continues to the oceanfront several miles away, connects one street to the next and makes walking to your friends’ houses or any of the above destinations a breeze.

And then there are my neighbors. These people, before they even knew me well, spent a better portion of the middle of a Saturday night, while I was out of town, chasing down my two escaped hound dogs. They quickly became so much more than just neighbors. Any given night, you could walk out the door and invariably end up at a bonfire, on the beach, or just sitting on the porch across the street. If you hung on the porch often enough, you were dubbed a Porch Hor. We celebrated the November Nor’Easter by candlelight and had wine and s’mores and bongo drums around the fire pit more nights than I can count. Several times I walked across the street to say hi, only to be invited to stay for dinner, and there would always be something for me, the resident vegetarian. They even threw me my very own goodbye Christmas party, complete with snow. I love my neighbors.

Which is one of the reasons that I’ve realized I don’t want to continue this LA adventure anymore. I keep looking for home and I keep wanting to belong, but I’ve continually held myself at a distance from the people and circumstances that make up exactly what it is I profess to seek: I’ve held myself at a distance from my life. I’m so glad I did this, but I am ready to go home.

With luck I’ll end up back in the same neighborhood. Hey, if I could live in Mayberry, I would.

La Brea Avenue, Los Angeles, Calfornia. April 8, 2010.

Today I honor all the wonderful women in my life.

The one I was born to and the ones I was born with, who get me for who I am and encourage with love and honesty though I don’t always make sense.

The one who recognizes me most of the time, but is most intimately connected when she is confused by reality and speaks in metaphor.

The one who yesterday took one look at my face, figured I was having a bad day and offered me a healing session on the spot. I don’t even know her name.

And the ones who have traveled with me through the years, whether it be two or twenty or twenty times two. Through the good and the bad and the silly and the just plain stupid, your love keeps the flame of friendship alive through time and distance and things that just happen. Because that’s what friends do, and that’s what life does sometimes. It just happens.

Thank you all. I love you dearly, and I wish you a beautiful day.

Ya’ll are just so cool, you deserve it.

Winter is finally over. The cold and dreary days fade away as though a dream. Flowers, trees and fields are alive with the colors and scents and sounds of inevitable spring. My parent’s backyard in Virginia is a little spot of heaven where you can sit on the porch, have a Margarita and watch the hummingbirds in flight. Lightning bugs glow softly as the sun sets to the west, its brilliance and warmth caressing your face. It is a safe and comforting place. The sunflowers there grow to tall heights, eager to embrace the life energy around them. My favorite flower, they represent warmth, happiness, strength and adoration. A symbol of God’s love, the sunflower knowingly turns and lifts its luminous face to the radiant light.

Today I’m posting a poem written by SuziCate at The Water Witch’s Daughter. She is a fantastic writer and a dear friend and she’s got a pretty good view of her world and her place in it. At one time or another we all can benefit from remembering that so much of our life, and especially the bad things in it, are based on our perceptions and have little to do with reality. So feel the sunshine on your face, see the love in someone’s eyes reflected back at you and know that you are going to be okay. Yes, I’d like it to be that simple and I believe it ultimately really is.

The following poem was written when I thought about how much my life changed when I simply chose to look at things in a new way. The only thing that really stood between myself and inner peace all those years was my perception of life. ~ SuziCate

She says
Monsters lurk in the darkness
I say
Peace comes in the night
She sees
Worries and heart aches
I see
Things will be alright

She tastes
bitterness in days gone by
I taste
The sweetness of this day
She waits
For her world to fall apart
I wait
For whatever comes my way

She feels
The pounding of the storm
I feel
The dancing of the falling rain
She learns
Dreams can be crushed
I learn
Experience comes through pain

She smells
The stench of her past
I smell
The roses all year long
She hears
The critic in her head
I hear
The beauty of my song

Living Out Loud. (v15). Prêt-à-porter.

Talk about an item of clothing that has special meaning for you.

I am a collector of memories. Pictures, letters, and dates of significant events, I keep them all. At one time I had over 20 t-shirts with special meaning ~ shirts I couldn’t just clear out at the end of the year because I hadn’t worn them once in the past 365 days. Among them was the 1985 Madonna concert, the Solomon’s Island sailboat race in 1991 (an overnight race up the Intracoastal Waterway) and the first fundraising shirt of the then non-existent ODU football team back in 1988. We won’t talk about the countless tees that were special simply because I’d “worn them when . . . ”

All the subsequent moves to LA and back and to LA eventually resulted in a hardening of the sentimental heart for saving every single moment of my life (though I have a chunk of the porch off my childhood home . . . but that’s another story). Light travel and space became the priority, and it always feels good to give something to charity when I am so blessed, anyway.

Somehow, one t-shirt has managed to hang in there ~ a vintage Tabasco tee, circa 1988, brought back by my parents from their first trip to New Orleans and Mardi Gras. Laissez les bons temps rouler on the front, Let the good time roll on the back. For some reason I cannot get rid of this shirt. I was actually offered $50 for it at the Cajun Festival in Town Point Park, Norfolk, good money for a college student, and I turned the guy down.

The pictures and letters I keep represent meaningful, pivotal times in my life. They hold the hearts and the memories of people I’ve loved, places I’ve been, like a journal, another record of a life hopefully well-lived, and definitely well-loved. I think I keep the shirt because when my stepdad came along, life took a turn for the better, and though of course, hindsight is always 20/20, this little piece of clothing sends a message for the present and the future as well. Enjoy life. Celebrate the miracle that it is, embrace all the people who love you, and go for your dreams.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Attitude shapes thought. Thought shapes words. Lately I’ve just not had a lot to say, which is something I never thought I’d say.

This morning I grabbed three of my favorite things: my dogs, coffee and camera, and headed down the hill to my neighbor’s garden. Here, rustic trails wind their course, shored strong, anchored, by sturdy river rock. Colorful flowers and lush trees, vibrant and alive, take root, bloom where they are planted. Tangible and lasting evidence of insight and commitment and planning and patience and love. Necessary tools of the creator’s dream. Where there is a vision, words are not always necessary.

SuzeCate at The Water Witch’s Daughter is giving away Sunshine Awards, so I went right over there and took mine. I figure I deserve it, if for nothing else, because I’m not going to sit here and complain in a long drawn and out boring post how pissed off I am at my stomach right now.

It’s enough to know that 3 years ago it immediately and without reason developed its own homeostatic balance, but not one that agrees with this human body. The cause could be physiological, psychological, or spiritual ~ I really don’t know, but all obvious physical reasons have been ruled out, so that leaves psychological and spiritual. I’m good with that, because well, there’s a lot of truth to those phrases about butterflies in your stomach and your gut reaction. Maybe there’s something to the fact that for the 3 weeks I was in LA, it all but disappeared. Either way, if there’s one thing I do know about me, it’s that I have a list of things I’ve been working on, and tuning into intuition is one of them. I just find it really hard to hear a damn thing when there’s a beast in my belly.

I’m complaining. So I’ll stop. My point is, today came close to being a really.bad.day. But it wasn’t.

Thanks to the encouragement that only the best of friends can give, I got my work done ~ maybe not a 100% effort, but I’m willing to bet a good 90% ~ and I took that aching, bloated belly, and the rest of my body, out for a good hour hike up the mountain behind our house. Yeah, I still feel like crap, but little miss sunshine showered and got her butt down to the local health food store, too, and there’s nothing like feeling the warm air turn cool driving around this little mountain town with the windows down and beagles ears blowing in the breeze.

I’m symbolically passing along the Sunshine Award to everyone who goes through this with me on an almost daily basis. It’s my goal not to become one of those women who lives exclusively on exercise and wine. Though I doubt that would ever happen because I love food too much, there are times when it seems like a quick and easy and painless solution to an otherwise downright frustrating dilemma.

I mean, a girl’s gotta eat.

some place

some time

some one

some thing

always searching

always trying

always reaching

always striving.

did nothing today

except be

did not fade

maybe even actually was.

The next time you get one of those little sparks of a great idea and you feel yourself bursting with enthusiasm, only to notice moments later that the flame has been extinguished by that thing called logic, take a look at this video from Playing for Change.

This is just one segment of a film created because an idea ignited in Mark Johnson one day while watching a crowd gather to listen to street musicians: What if music could unite and bring peace? He began the project in Santa Monica, CA with the filming of legendary street blues singer Roger Ridley, and fanned across the world shooting musicians playing their own music in their native countries and connecting them by editing their performances into a “universal song.”

The finished project, Playing for Change: Peace through Music, has evolved into a foundation that seeks to unite musicians and bring people together while promoting peace. They work to build music and art schools in communities that are in need of inspiration and hope, the first in South Africa and the latest in Kirini, Mali, described on their website as “an ancient village with about 1,000 people, all of whom are descendents of musicians, many of them over 75 generations of musicians. They have no electricity, but enough soul to brighten all of us as we share this journey together. It is also the home of the newest Playing For Change Music School.”

I was able to view a screening of the entire movie last night with about 30 other people. It’s obvious that music links us, whether two people or two thousand or twenty thousand. So enjoy the video, the emotion and the soul, and check out their website. And when you feel those inspirations come, like a quiet passing thought out of thin air that flames up like a match in the dark, maybe don’t let it disappear into nowhere.

What if you actually acted on it?