in a dream

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I’ve been having strange dreams again. Apparently the 9/9 portal might be the culprit, or maybe it’s a result of this oppressive heat wave in Southern California, which seems as if it will never end.

The 9/9 Energy Portal is a sacred gateway of powerful energies that invites us to step into a time of profound spiritual growth, completion, and transformation. As the energies of the cosmos align, this portal opens the door to new beginnings, urging us to reflect, release, and renew our inner selves. angelladycrystalsboutique.com

In numerology, the number 9 is the symbol of completion, wisdom, and spiritual enlightenment.

These two dreams were the most intense:

I was waiting in the cell phone lot at the airport for a friend’s arrival when I got a notification that their flight was abruptly diverted to India. It made no sense, but that’s all I remember, except for feeling distraught because there was nothing I could do. Southern California diverted to India? Not to LA or Orange County, but halfway around the world? How odd is that? How random…and I can’t explain how inconsolable and dejected I felt as I had to drive home alone.

In the other dream, it started out OK, because, as I often do in real life, I ran up the steps to the top of my garden at dusk to look for coyotes. (That’s how I actually broke my wrist once upon a time.) However, in the dream, my backyard morphed into a recurring dream location that’s a mountainous hiking trail with a steep ridge. Crazy, but I often dream of this place which is more like Joshua Tree than anywhere else I can recall.

When I got to the top (no coyotes this time) and looked down, I thought I was following the garden trail back home, but the backyard no longer existed as I was now in that recurring dream place.

The sun disappeared completely into a dark and moonless night. It was cold and I realized that I was frightfully lost. I couldn’t find my way home. I started down one wrong trail after another, but there wasn’t any path that took me to a familiar place and my head was spinning with panic.

Still dreaming, I figured the best solution would be to simply stop aimlessly wandering and wait for the morning light as I was becoming more and more agitated. I wanted to go HOME.

That’s when I woke up. It was unsettling to feel so disoriented. I have no idea what it all means, but I thought of that Steve Winwood song, Cant Find My Way Home. I like this acoustic version:

To Be So Loved

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Meet my boo, my bae, my sweetie:

Every morning he waits for me on the deck by the patio doors. Sometimes I almost trip over him because he’s always underfoot, trailing me from the deck to the garden and back again.

When I first noticed this behavior, I thought he had somehow become stranded on the deck and was asking for help, so I put him him in a box and released him on the grass, but he came right back.

He turns his head back and forth as if he’s listening to me, “Good morning, little guy!” “Is it hot enough for you?” “Here’s a bowl of fresh water in case you’re thirsty.”

At night, he looks through the screen door, but that’s where I draw the line. He’s not coming in, not even if he shows off with a few sets of those lizard-y pushups. #boundaries

One occurrence would be nothing to think about, but this happens daily, so I guess I’m in a relationship now.

I brought him a green hornworm from my tomato plant and he gobbled it up. Since my love language involves feeding and caregiving, that made me happy (and a little grossed out).

Most of my research says that lizards symbolize resurrection and rebirth. In Egyptian hieroglyphics, the symbol of the lizard was representative of plentiful abundance. A lizard in one’s house is often seen to represent an old friend or acquaintance.

Gotta go, my boo just came by for breakfast. 🐛

Phytophile: Word of The Day

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A phytophile is a person who loves plants, and for me, that includes dandelions! Phytophile comes from the Greek words phytòn (plant) and philìa (love or passion).

Last week I rescued a six-foot ficus and a sad little cordyline from the nursery clearance section. They were dried out and cruelly discarded. These once beautiful specimens simply needed a bit of my tender, loving care. They quickly perked up and are both now enjoying the good life here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.

Margaret Tarrant

More about the adorable and functional dandelion…

Dandy Lion

Surfing and Cartwheeling

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Do you remember your firsts?

I do. I remember my first ballet class, my first pair of pointe shoes, my first ski trip along with my best ride down Stump Alley at Mammoth, and even my first bra, lolz

Not having grown up on the west coast, I didn’t have a connection to the ocean until high school.

I recall my first time on a surfboard…it did NOT go well, and I almost broke my nose. This was not the sport for me. Decades later, I gave it another try. Once again, it didn’t go well. I ended up rolling and rolling under some giant NOT BEGINNER waves, and the next day I was covered in the ugliest bruises. That was IT for me.

Angel Girl takes gymnastics and was obsessed with cartwheels. Tenacious girl that she is, she tried and practiced and kept at it until the mechanics of a cartwheel finally clicked and she perfected it. “Watch me, Grandma!” “See, I can do it now!”

What an amazing sense of accomplishment and mastery of a difficult skill. “Great job, girl!”

Even though we live so close to the ocean, the original Angel Boy didn’t really like to surf, mainly because without his glasses, he can’t see a thing, and it was a scary endeavor unless he had a buddy with him. He’d boogie board a lot, but never really got into surfing until he started wearing contacts.

Now he has a quiver of boards here and at his house, too.

To encourage AB 2.0, he’s been taken along for (gentle) rides on a surfboard since he was about a year old.

This past weekend, it finally clicked for him, too. He stood up and surfed his first legit wave!

This is a bad photo because I took it from the video, but I can feel T’s sense of pride. It didn’t matter that it was a small wave: HE DID IT, and OMG, he’s a carbon copy of his dad.

Predictably, you couldn’t get him out of the water after that. He’s completely hooked, and now Dad has a lifelong surfing buddy. As an aside, is there anything cuter than a little grom in a wetsuit?

I hope they never forget these significant firsts, and since we have video of all of it, I can imagine they’ll show their own children these amazing accomplishments.

Grandma pride RULES!

Your Little Boy

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“Do you know what YOUR LITTLE BOY did?”

“Grandma, I need to tell you about YOUR LITTLE BOY!”

It never fails to make me laugh when I hear both Angels refer to their dad that way.

It started a long time ago when I explained to them that not only was I their grandma, but that their dad was my little boy and he’ll ALWAYS be my little boy.

Ever since, and especially when they have some juicy gossip OR a complaint, he’s referred to as “your little boy”.

When he rode his skateboard sans helmet which is absolutely DUMB, Angel Boy 2.0 would call me and tattle on him. When he fell off his surfboard, I was told about it. When he ran through a red light, yup, I had a phone call.

“Grandma, you will not BELIEVE what your little boy did!”

They extract a great deal of enjoyment when I scold their dad about his small crimes and misdemeanors; I’m a constant source of entertainment: “DAD, GRANDMA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR!”

Mom isn’t exempt either, but MY little boy bears the brunt of the scandalous chat.

This time was a bit different. AB is now in third grade and his sister will start kindergarten at the same school. Usually Dad walked him as it’s only a couple blocks away and Mom stayed with the baby, now not a baby. (This is a cool deja vu moment for both Dad and me, because HIS elementary school was also in walking distance, and it was a great time to chat and walk there every day.)

I got the phone call….“Do you know what your little boy is going to do when school starts?“

I literally had no idea.

“Because I like to get to school early – Grandma, you know I don’t like to be late — and you know how Dad and I race there every day and sometimes I win –and C can’t EVER wake up, YOUR LITTLE BOY is going to run me to school first, come home, and then bring C. Isn’t that funny?”

“Well, T, why don’t you just wait until your sister is ready and Dad will only have to make one trip?”

“OMG Grandma, you KNOW that won’t work! We have to leave at exactly the right time.”

The backstory is that Angel Boy 2.0 has always been an early riser like Dad (and me), but his sister could sleep all night and most of the day. Sometimes, we still check on her to make sure she’s breathing, but boyohboy can that girl SLEEP.

Her pre-school started at 9:15 and it was often a struggle to get her there on time. Kindergarten starts at 7:55 a.m. so she’s going to have to go to bed extra early to train for a new sleep schedule. There will no longer be an option to let her skip a day or two or come in a couple hours late.

The best part of this story is how much Angel Boy loves school. He can’t wait to get there and always wants to stay after to play with friends.

His dad loved to learn, too, and still does.

It’s markedly different than my experience, that’s for sure. I didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to get home. The only happy part of it for me was the night before when I chose whatever pretty dress I would wear the next day. There were always matching socks and ribbons for my hair.

Being a fashionista is a life long pursuit and I can’t wait to see what the kids wear for their first day.

MY LITTLE BOY had his own sense of style…

The original Angel Boy with Stella Rondo

Come With Me

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“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way…” Rumi

Photo by Enchanted Seashells

It may look like a hot and dusty trail, but I think it’s paradise. Let’s explore this path together.

A Wonderful Day

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This is a wonderful day.
I have never seen this one before.
~ Maya Angelou

Sunrise photo by Enchanted Seashells

Hearts and Sons

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My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.

It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”

Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.

I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.

This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!

We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.

Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”

Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.

As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.

It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.

Weekend Vibes

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Just picked a cluster of gorgeous grapes; might pour myself a glass of some chilled and fermented ones a bit later. (Of course I’m talking about chardonnay.)

Happy Friday!

Who Knows Where The Time Goes

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Do you feel this way, too?

The days seem to be slipping through my fingers, dripping one by one like a faucet that can’t be turned off.

I can’t fix it, can’t stop it, can’t slow it down. MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFriday, it’s all the same, it’s going nowhere, it’s going everywhere. I turn and turn the handle but there’s nothing I can do to slow the incessant leak.

(Maybe this was the real message about all those plumbing problems I had a couple months ago.)

First it was January; then I blinked and it’s almost the end of August.

Where has the time gone?

I can’t put all the hours back on the clock, I can’t halt the inexorable passage of time, I can’t stop the sand in the hourglass from running through my fingers.

I don’t know what happened to time. It’s out of my control.

Everyone has heard the version that of Who Knows Where The Time Goes by Judy Collins, but I just learned the original artist and songwriter was Britain’s Sandy Denny. She had the voice of an angel.

Of course Judy Collins is magnificent: