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 Roasting

Outside Ojai Coffee Roasting

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

Something I love about moving to a new town is getting to discover all of the hidden treasures here. I have never been much of a shopper ~ haven’t been in a mall since something like 2005 ~ but this is not your usual town. There are no chain stores or restaurants within the city limits. I mean, none. And not many at all until you get to Ventura.

What is here is an eclectic and unique mix of art galleries, a couple of natural food stores, a fair share of metaphysical shops (I just discovered my new favorite, Soul Centered), a number of fantastic restaurants and a farmer’s market every Sunday morning. I am in sheer orgasmic bliss over the number of fantastic restaurants, the yoga classes, the spiritual centers, the spas. I cook daily with my sea salts and olive oil and shower with, well, sea salts and olive oil. You can’t get too much of a good thing.

But what really has my heart are the thrift stores, coffee houses and Bart’s Books, the world’s greatest outdoor bookstore. It’s almost like someone designed a town just for me, where I can spend the next few months of my life taste-testing coffee and homemade desserts, searching for new old junk, and cozying up in a bookstore that is as welcoming as your old worn bathrobe and slippers after a long day.

All this without the hassle of traffic and the claustrophobia of a mall. I may just stay awhile.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

Yesterday I felt compelled to spend the better part of a beautiful Saturday washing the hardwood floors and windows, dusting mini blinds, sweeping the deck and doing laundry. Today I think my spirit is doing a bit of cobweb clearing too. I’ve pretty much given in to a silly little crying jag that started in a dream and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. In the center of my chest is a stabbing feeling ~ like something is gone and is ripping my heart out with it. A couple of times it’s had me doubled over, gut-wrenching, wracked, a good kind of cry. From down deep somewhere, whatever has left or is on its way out is leaving because the time has come for it to go.

A friend asked me over coffee a few days ago what I wanted to do with my photography now that I’m in Southern California. The answer I gave is that I really don’t know. As an artist or creator or whatever, shouldn’t I have an answer for that? It would be sweet to be in a gallery or two, and heck, I’d love to sell more of my prints online, but I’m not sure those two things alone completely fuel the fire. I once didn’t take a job as a photographer’s assistant because the woman told me she wasn’t it in to make “pretty pictures” and did it strictly for the money. Eh, I kinda need more than that.

His simple and honest question haunts me. There is more to my answer than that I just don’t know. The truth is, I’m kinda winging it right now. I mean, I did move to LA, and then Ojai, more on a whim than a plan, right? I’m figuring out stuff all the time. I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this but I do know that I don’t need to beat myself up for not having it all laid out on paper just yet. Something is swirling around and taking shape and building form and in its present stages already is something I could not have come up with on my own. So whatever’s going on inside today, this little bit of cleansing and making space, I’m going to just go with it.

So no big blog today, ok? Just a really cool little ditty that’s my new fav song from the all too awesome Rob Thomas. Now excuse me, because this song today, makes me wanna cry.

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.

I have always called LolliPop my little Mud Puppy. Just like Pearl was my Baked Potato, there’s no rhyme or reason for the name. Until now. Until Ojai.

Thrilled to have a yard again, she can’t just go out in the back and just do her business. Oh no. She’s got to climb up the hill behind the house and investigate every corner of the property, every single time she goes outside.

Dense in vegetation and ripe with the scent of coyote that pass in the early morning hours, there’s lots to entertain her. The dirt on the slope is more clay than dust, and because it’s rained several times in the past couple of weeks, right now it is a thick and slick and sticky paste.

Sometimes she calmly walks along the length of the ramp and plods back to the deck. More likely, though, she’ll take off from the top of the hill, ears and tongue flapping as she comes crashing down at top speed, energized, I like to think, by a sense of adventure. Freedom. Reckless abandon. Probably, she’s just having a damn good time.

She shuffles to the door, mud caked to her feet like sasquatch slippers. The first time she walked in, at 6:30 in the morning, I thought she’d stepped in poo. It took me by surprise and it took me 20 minutes to clean the muck from between her pads. Last night I pulled off the chunky clumps and stuck her little feet in the sink. This afternoon, I just carried a big bowl outside and plunked those paws, one at a time, in the warm water. Complimentary Puppy Paw Scrub and Drying Massage.

With all this trouble, it makes more sense to just take her outside on the leash and stand there with her while she pees, confined to one clean and pristine spot.

Invariably the rains will stop and the mud will dry. It is Southern California, after all.

She’s a country girl, and and she’s happy. She can run, and play. And breathe.

Think about it.

When was the last time you walked barefoot in the rain, jumped with both feet in puddles or bared your naked puppies to the mud?

©2010 the orange chair. All Rights Reserved.