Archives for posts with tag: Garden


Wedding Dress

Sup. I bought my wedding dress.  Am I wearing it properly?

I am back in Afghanistan next week.

I may take it with me.  Masc and Chill.

I’m going to lip sync ‘Call Me Maybe’ with my Marine Corp bros/buds.


This summer has not delivered the early morning, glittering sea views we are used to.  It is gray and wet.  The dew is so heavy that it drips like tropical rain off the plane trees.

By 10am the sun has burned off the marine layer but somehow never really recovers.  The weather is totally messed up.  The garden thrives although I worry about the cacti.

We lost three this year, rotting in the damp air.

I have huge and beautiful squash growing on the terrace.

Henry is dropping by today.  He is taking me to the doctor.  My foot is still very painful.  Swollen.  I can see that it gets better.  Slowly, slowly.  I take a stick with me into the garden.  Ever since the coyote attacked the little dog he stays close to me.

There is a very destructive squirrel chomping on anything and everything but mostly he/she picks oranges and peels them very carefully.

The plums have all been harvested.  The figs are ripening.  There are so many this year.

Tomatoes and beans, lemons, limes and grapes.

I cooked dinner for Andrew last night, we sat eating it watching Ted on Chopped.  I rarely veer from watching HGTV or MSNBC.

Late last night the dog started howling at the moon.  It’s impossible to get back to sleep.

Duncan and Gabe

The garden.  Watering the garden.  Tending the garden.  Seedlings.  Deer at night.  Snakes by day.  Warm sun, a cool breeze blowing off the ocean.  It is just all so beautiful and thrilling.

I take my afternoon nap.  I write my blog.  I walk by the ocean. Gabe is here.  The tide is high.  The Little Dog runs from the waves, darting in and out of the rocks.  The surfers ride them high, crashing into the water.

News items that disturb me:  The mutilated 13-year-old Syrian boy.  The care workers in England who tortured their mentally ill charges.  The other little boy who may win a fixed British talent contest.  The corrupt and uncaring government.

Yet, despite these horrors I can still find peace.  I am at one with who I am.  Will this last?  No it wont, but why bother worrying about what may or may not come next?

Spirituality means dealing with our intuition.   The divine is looking kindly upon me?

I am here and now.  Experiencing right now.  No point in dwelling on the past or imagining the future.  This very moment.  Nothing mystical.  Precise.

Why be threatened by the now?  Jumping to the past or the future.  The now is good.

I am no longer waiting to be dead.

Trust right now.  It is very powerful.  Interacting with the now.  Everything I experience is unconditional.

Borrowing from the past and inviting the future.   No, not today.

Perhaps this is why I want God to look kindly upon me?

This morning I fight with AT&T because they have over charged me.  I take the twins and Gabe to breakfast at the Lumber Yard.  I water the citrus trees. Yesterday I stayed at the house all day gardening.

Enough is all I have so I must trust that enough is all I need.  My needs are met. Right NOW.  Look around me and experience what for the past year has been so elusive.   I live in a paradise.  My own paradise.  It is no use dwelling on future catastrophes when I love what is happening right now.  It is no use hankering after what could have been. It is no use comparing what I have with what others own and despairing that I want even more.

I am a single man with far too much already.


PS My friend and backgammon foe Sam (Levinson) is dating Ellen Barkin. I celebrate their 31 years age difference.

My friend Alecia has had her baby.

This Morning on the Beach

So, I was thinking about humanity.  I was thinking about Haiti.  I was thinking about looters being shot after being saved from the rubble.  I was thinking about fresh water.  I was thinking about scrabbling around for stuff when the big rain comes. When the big shakedown comes.  When they breach the great Fairfax divide and claim what they think is theirs.

I was thinking about John with his pump action, his house on the Beverly hill and how he underestimates the will of the people.  We learned to live with nature, we never tamed it, we never will.   We must never fear God’s big rain, but always fear the will of the people.  John said that ‘cream always rises’.  But when the anarchists come with another set of rules, a different cream will find it’s way to the surface.

(I remember at Monkton Wyld School waking up at midnight and skimming the thickest cream off of the milk from the churns into aluminum pans and onto cold apple crumble.  The only time we could get at the cream was at the dead of night for midnight feasts.   At a different boarding school I remember bad boy Mark Machin waking me at 3 in the morning with a dead pheasant he had poached.  He said, “Cook it.”)

With rampant inflation just around the corner I wonder what can save the banking system?  Still tinkering rather than overhauling, clinging to what they know like so many old school soviet politbureau. The toxic assets are still on the banks books.  What could have, would have happened if these banks were allowed to fail? Some people think-the end of the world.

Did the world end when the Romans lost control?  When tulip bulbs lost their value?

Money is an abstract notion.  It only has value if and when we decide it has value.  It can be manipulated, reinvented, withdrawn…

The banks should have failed.  It is the way of capitalism and by steering away from the inevitable, by altering the true course we merely delay the eventual dashing of the good ship Capitalism on the rocks of time.

This ship will still sink and the world will not end.  Their world will end.  The world of Bernake and Geitner.

Revolutionary change is hard for some, exciting for others.  It is essential for our evolution.

Cautionary tale number 1:

Two years ago I bought a painting at auction for $50.  When it was first sold at a smart New York gallery in the 1970’s it sold for $50,000.  During the 80’s the gallery owner died.  The market and cache around her artists and their work crashed.  Their credibility failed.  With nobody to support the abstract notion of what this art was worth, no longer championed by the powerful gallerist, the stable of artists drifted back into oblivion.

Cautionary tale number 2:

In 1593 Carolus Clusius, a Dutch botanist planted the first tulips in Holland for medicinal purposes. Clusius planted a small garden of tulip bulbs and once they bloomed his neighbors begged him to sell them.  Carolus refused. This, understandably, created a huge demand.

So, one night, his garden was broken into and the bulbs were stolen. The thieves created the Dutch Tulip Trade. Tulip bulbs became a commodity and determined the wealth of the nation.

Tulip bulbs became so valuable that they were not planted for fear of being stolen and the entire economy of Holland was based upon their value.

Then, quiet suddenly, the tulip trading business crashed due to bad bulb speculation and an inability of growers to produce enough bulbs to meet demand thus ruining many, many businessmen.

Tulips lost their value and people began to plant them again.

The world did not end.