Communicating with Purpose

APLD board members hard at work

It is that moment when the last tumbler falls into place and you hear the ‘click’ as the door finally swings open.  For me, the ‘click’ was finally discovering that sweet spot where my passion for the earth and my joy at being on stage blended in perfect harmony.

Yesterday I had the honor of leading a workshop for Board members of the Association of Professional Landscape Designers.  The goal of the workshop was developing stronger presenting and communication skills so that they could get the results they needed:  attracting sponsors, affecting public policy, and advocating the rights of landscape designers to practice as professionals.

As I taught the class, I pointed out that it only took my entire lifetime to get to that point.  Had it not been for my experience and education, my obstacles and challenges, I would not have been standing in front of them.   That journey, that story was different for each of them, and it held the the power to connect them to their audience, be it one person or one hundred.  We also spent time exploring personal purpose as the foundation for any work we do.  The more connected we are to our mission and what we are here to do, the more grounded we are in our daily lives and the more motivated we are in the actions we take.

Practicing in front of an audience

The final portion of the class was a discussion on fear.  We all laughed in recognition of the power of that fear – and that it was a lifetime of work to disarm it.  But it was also acknowledged that there were ways to work thru it, around it.  We had all done it in the past, and it could not be the thing that prevented us from doing what we had to do.  After all, courage isn’t the lack of fear.  It is feeling the fear and doing it anyways.

As I think back on the day I will never forget the beauty of watching those designers share with each other their most heartfelt purpose, the reasons they had decided to become designers, and the important work they had to do as advocates for the earth.  It was a day when 30 individuals came together as compatriots.  Where there was laughter, and a few tears, and a recognition that each and every one of them was a unique being with their own gifts and talents.  It was a day when the fate of the planet shifted just a little bit more towards life.  I am so grateful to have joined their circle that day.

It is hard to express the sensation I felt to be doing what I loved with utter conviction and passion.  To feel as if I had finally stepped fully into my purposes.  And most importantly, to feel that the work I was doing served the audience and their needs as well as the greater good.

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Ruins

Old Ruins – photo by S. Brainin

An arch, old stones, granite boulders.  It is a shame you cannot smell a photograph.  For that would tell me so much more than the picture.

It would tell me that it had just rained and that the stones were ancient.

And that moss grew in the crevices.

And it would tell me that there was the hint of a storm on the horizon,

Of the heath on the hills,

Of time.

And what of my other senses?   Could I hear the sound of a lonely wind that wrapped its fingers around the statue?

What of the sound that is the rattle of gravel as a single visitor comes to pay homage?  The sound of iron upon stone as an old door clangs.

And perhaps, if I listen carefully, there is the cry of a hawk from a nearby tree before it takes to the air.

And what of the fingers?

A shame this photograph could not be felt.  The texture of that stone – so cold and rough, and perhaps a bit wet.

Faded words that can be traced, engraved upon the casket.

The smooth cold of the remaining windows, and the rough grooves where they sit.  Embedded for eternity.

For it is true;  a photo is only two dimensions and one sense.  And even with that,

We do not know what lurks just beyond the frame.

Tucked beneath the eaves, leaning against that cold rough stone is a pair of lovers.  She feels its chill against her back, as she does his warmth against her chest.

As he breathes in her perfume, he catches a scent of the ancient stones and mossy cracks.  And as she gasps in pleasure when he plunges inside of her, the cry of a circling hawk echoes in her ears.

True – a photograph is only two dimensions and one sense.  And though it is worth a thousand words, it is not nearly enough.

(view audio recording: )

 

photo by S. Brainin

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Focus (A Walk Thru Obsession)

Patterns in the sea

To yearn. To long for.  To desire.  To need.  There was no way to turn it off.

‘So stay focused,’ she told herself.  As long as she was thinking of here, she wasn’t needing to be there.  So focus.  It became her mantra as she walked that afternoon.  Over and over, she told herself, calling out the elements as she passed them by:

  •      A man with a dog,
  •      A pole with a light,
  •      A door with a red handle.

Don’t think about him.  Walk on. Focus.

  •      The patterns in the sand,
  •      The patterns in the sky,
  •      The patterns in the trees.

Stop.  Don’t think about him.

For a moment she eased up on her focus, and the memories rushed in like a tsunami.  Flooding her with want, with longing, with memories.  Stop.  Focus, Go on.

  • The cracks in the concrete,
  • The fronds on the palm,
  • The guy and his guitar.

Go on.  Don’t stop.  She listened to the march of her footsteps.  To the calling of the gulls.  To the conversations of the joggers running by.  Keep moving, stay focused. Don’t let him in.

But the door was open, the vigilance dropped and he exploded into her psyche.  His touch, his smell, his taste, his voice, invading her, drowning her with longing.

So she squeezed her eyes shut, marching faster, stepping harder.  Focus.  Stay focused.  Up ahead,

  •  the colors of the roller coaster,
  • the sign of the hotdog stand,
  • the shutters on the hotel, slightly crooked.

And without warning, she slipped away to a room years before.  To his hands, all over her body, to the pleasure he gave her, to the way he felt as he moved inside of her.  To the way his voice rumbled as he called her name.

Enough! She screamed at herself.  It was nearly crazy making.  Focus.  On smells.

  •  The smell of drying seaweed,
  • the smell of hotdog on a stick,
  • the smell of Channel #5 poured on too strong.

Focus.  On sounds, on sights, on smells, on touch.

  •  The ribbon on her sock biting into her toe.
  • The wind and sand sharp on her cheek.
  • The feel of her pants as they brushed against her thighs.
  • The spider web of her hair against her face.

And what would she do when the walk came to and end?  Would she pace the floors of her bedroom like a caged beast? Calling out her bed, her chair, her makeup table?  What was the inventory that would finally exhaust her, put him at bay?  She slowed then, her heart pounding, the sounds of the sea loud in her ear.  The taste of salt thick on her tongue.

Or, she thought, she could just give in.  She could let him claim her.  Let him sweep her up in the memories, carry her away for hours, as she relived over and over the times they had together.

Yes.  She thought, she could just do that.  It would be so much easier.  Ease the ache for a little while longer.  She could worry about letting him go tomorrow.  She smiled as she recalled Scarlet O’hara’s famous line, ‘after all tomorrow is another day.’

Almost in a daze, she turned around and headed home.  The dam broken, the memories pouring in, the moments of ecstasy tasted over and over again.  Yes, tomorrow was another day.

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Building a Rain Garden

We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day.  It had rained earlier in the week but this morning it was cool and crisp, with a bright sun coming up behind the trees.  The snack table was being set, signs were going up, materials were being unloaded. There was the excitement of breaking ground in the air. As an instructor from G3, Green Gardens Group, this morning I would guide the group in the process of building a rain garden.

Getting rid of the grass

Getting rid of the grass

The first participants arrived: members of the Hollywood Beautification Team who joined with Water LA to assist residents with the installation of various rainwater capturing methods. (See WaterLA.Org for more info on how this project evolved).  Four fellows piled out with tools in hand and energy in their step.  Definitely what we were going to need for the job at hand.

At 9:00 am the residents from the neighborhood arrived – boots and gloves and hats.  They had been forewarned this was a ‘hands-on’ workshop.  They would learn by doing, working hard, getting dirty.

One could ask, ‘Why do we need a rain garden? How is a rain garden different than any other kind of garden?’  And, that is a very good question. As we stood in a circle and looked at the semi dead grass and lone lemon tree in a barren patch of dirt – the answer became evident.

Front Yard - before

Front yard – before

The concept is simple enough.  Currently, rain falls onto a property and hits any number of surfaces – mostly impermeable.  From there, the water runs off the property and into the street where is it flushed thru our flood control system – billions of gallons of water are lost this way with each rain incident. What we are doing instead is capturing the rain and keeping it on the property so that it can infiltrate into the garden and water table or be stored for future use.  Looking to nature and watersheds as the inspiration and model – we began.

At the top of a natural watershed are the mountains.  In our built environment it is the roof; one of the most significant impermeable surfaces on the property.  To be able to capture even a portion of the water that comes off that surface would make quite a dent.  For every 1” of rain on a 1,000 sf of roof, we could capture some 600 gallons of water.  In an average rainy season – that is more than 6,000 gallons of water per year.

Roof for rainwater capture

In our case, the portion of roof we were working with created about 300 gallons.  The next step was to figure out what to do with those 300 gallons.  Left to its own device they would most likely hit the yard and flow right off.  So what we needed to do was create a swale or bowl in the garden that would hold the water long enough for it to sink into the ground.  Feeling like we were all back in 5th grade math class, we calculated that 300 gallons needed about 40 cubic yards to hold it (300/7.48).

Once we had the size we needed, we could get creative in both depth and dimensions: the shallower the bowl, the larger the size.  Conversely, the deeper the bowl, the smaller the size. We opted for a circle that was about 6” deep x  10’ wide.

Now it was time to get to work.  Over the next few hours every one did what they could, taking turns with the shovels, the rakes or their hands as we began by grubbing out the grass in the area of our rain garden.  This was probably the most tedious but important thing to be done.  It is quite the bow to Mother Nature to see how tenacious the grass can be and if we did not get rid of it as thoroughly as possible, it would be right back with the next rains.

working with a bunyip

Working with a bunyip

From there, we began to shape our swale.  Starting with the deepest point, we expanded and graded until we had a gentle bowl.  Excess soil was bermed and smoothed along the perimeter, though primarily to the sides.  We wanted to be able to capture any water flowing upstream  of the new garden in addition to the roof.  We also added a gentle depression that would guide the water from the downspout to our new garden.  At one point, I found myself sitting in the bowl, swishing that soil around, moving it, smoothing it, until it was just the right shape; my hands and arms giving me so much more control than a rake.

The last thing to build was a trench between the rain garden and the rest of the yard that would create a barrier, a literal moat, to keep the invasive grass out of our newly cleared area.  When we were done, our circle had evolved into more of an oval horseshoe – quite a lovely shape for a rain garden.

The day was coming to an end, and it was time to clean up and celebrate.  A few moans as folks stretched and discovered they had muscles they didn’t know about.  And though not finished, we could already see the amazing transformation.  I hosed down the bowl and could see how easily those droplets of water were already being absorbed into the soil. Next week we would be back, bringing in plants, mulch and irrigation to put the final touches on the garden.  In no time at all, the microbes in the soil would flourish with the water, oxygen and compost.  And with the winter rains just around the corner, there would be an explosion of color and life come spring.

rain garden after

Rain garden – after

As we stood in a circle looking at what was the foundation of our rain garden, drinking the coffee and eating the hearty pupusas – I would say the feeling was one of gratitude.  Gratitude for those in the circle who had joined us, gratitude for the hostess who had opened her home and heart to us, and gratitude that we could be a part of making a difference.

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Beast of Change

There is an earthquake happening.  Tectonic plates are shifting and the Old Ones want to keep it all intact, all in place.  The lava of change is flowing; the universe has heard the call and it is moving forward.  And it is a wave, a giant wave of upheaval and light: a black becoming white, or yellow, or purple.

And in the great discomfort is the change.  There are molecules forming and reforming in new patterns, new habits.    And in the discomfort is a new way of being.  A voice that says “it is no longer the same.  It is a different story now.”

Triggers and warnings and lightning storms that flash.

Who is that woman coming out of her cave?  On hands and knees she crawls, in fits and starts, like a great beast, she lumbers out onto the steppes.  Face streaked in mud, she raises her head to the sky.  It has been so long it hurts her eyes.  So long that she has been squeezed, she is not even certain she can stand.

And the earth rumbles and quakes, and tumbles her to her face.  For a moment she stills, but then she breathes, and breathes again, and rises up once more.  There is pain as she stretches, limbs that have not moved this way in eons.  They crackle and snap, but she pushes up on one arm and then the other, and comes up to her knees.  Her spine cracks as it straightens and her head feels unbalanced on her shoulders.

The sky explodes and thunder rumbles, and a bolt of lighting spears her side, singeing her as it hits the ground.  She falls to her face once more.  She notices how quickly her hands grab the earth, happy to be there once again; her spine bending back into its curve so easily.  And it would be so easy, so very, very easy, to crawl back into that cave once more.  To close her eyes and curl up once more.

But…. But….

It is too late now… She has raised her head…  She has seen the sun… There is no going back.

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Native Garden Goes in at West High School in Torrance

Torrance High School Gets New Rain Garden

West High School students create a rain garden on campus

Kudos to the science teachers at Torrance’s West High School!  And the City of Torrance for supporting them in creating an outdoor learning laboratory in the form of a native garden on campus.  I, along with Tom Rau, as instructors from G3, the Green Gardens Group, had the privilege of leading a hands-on workshop on campus one warm Saturday in September.  The plan had been to work with three science classes to convert a barren piece of property into a low maintenance, drought tolerant, native garden that would invite birds and butterflies as well as capture rainwater.  The plants we selected were Arctostaphylos ‘Pacifc Mist’ & ‘Emerald Carpet’, Ceanothus ‘Anchor Bay’ & ‘Point Reyes’, Salvia mellifera ‘Terra Seca.’  We also picked Muhlenbergia rigens & Carex pansa for the areas around the infiltration pits.

Native Plants for West High School Rain Garden - torrance, ca

Native Plants

But, as they say, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men…’ What had been envisioned as a standard installation soon became a comedy of errors as we were hit with one challenge after another.  But the lessons we all learned as a result were also much more than we’d expected.

It started with the heat; who would have thought we’d be getting record temperatures in an area usually cooled by a welcoming marine layer.   Next, we had been counting on a significant turn out from the community, but I guess they stepped outside, felt the temperatures and decided they’d be much happier at the beach.  And the list went on – a hose bib that broke, patches of Bermuda that stretched on like endless snakes, a chain across the path to the garden.  I can’t tell you the sinking feeling we felt as the 12:00 shift left and we were wondering if anyone would show up for the afternoon.

Planting native grasses in the infiltration pit - torrance, ca

Planting native grasses around infiltration pit

But truly, like a scene out of a movie, folks started rolling in:  students and community members.  We got our second wind and went back to work.  We prioritized, we persevered, we went to Plan B, and then Plan C.  The kids plugged away, weeding, digging, rolling boulders, planting.  The teachers, Ann Cortina and Betty Burkhard, were super heroes.  And Chuck Schaich, along with Omar from the City were there every step of the way – helping with laying out paths, getting down and dirty with the rest of us.  We could not have done it without them.  And I think that’s the secret right there.  Betty said it, ‘we created a community.’  Everyone who participated that day had a vested interest in seeing that garden succeed.

I took some photos at the end of the day, but what you see does not begin to cover what we accomplished.  To be very proud of:  we installed two decomposed granite pads, we weeded that gnarly Bermuda, we planted some California natives, and we laid out a series of infiltration pits.  But just as important, we built potential and promise, and inspired a greater understanding and appreciation for the earth.  Over the course of the day participants learned something about the importance and care of the soil, why we built the infiltration pits, and how to plant properly.  Along with that, they also got their hands dirty, learned to use tools, and figured out how to work together.

I’m guessing some of those kids went home hot and tired, complaining of ‘mean teachers who made them work so hard.’  But I also think that when those same kids showed up  Monday morning they walked over to the garden they helped transform and thought, with much deserved pride,  ‘Wow, I helped make that happen.’

We wanted to take a moment to thank the supporters who helped make this project a reality.

School and district administrators who gave a tremendous amount of support and latitude in designing and implementing the project; grants from very generous contributors: Darden Foundation,  US Fish & Wildlife Service, Pollinator Live; as well as the City of Torrance, and of course Surfriders and their Ocean Friendly Gardens Program.

Proud Instructors - Marianne Simon & Tom Rau

Proud Instructors – ‘kids did an amazing job!’

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Sacred Summer Hike in Topanga

First Tuesday Women Taking on Topanga

They say that First Tuesday meetings are different than most.  And this summer hike up in Topanga was no exception.  Fifteen women, accompanied by the howls of the coyotes and the dance of a dozen fireflies, made their way up to a plateau in Topanga Canyon to experience the setting sun and the joy of sisterhood.

We stood hand in hand, taking in the scent and sounds of the mountain, allowing that connection to seep into our souls.  It was the witching hour, the blue hour, the hour when the windows between worlds softens for a while.  We could not have asked for a more perfect evening.

I was privileged to serve as a guide for this portion of the evening and so began with a grounding exercise.  ‘Breathe in, breathe out.  Take in the smell of the mountains. Listen to the sounds of the birds joining our circle, notice the feel of the warm sun on your arms.’

She was with us;  there was no distinction between the earth and these women.  Each breath we took in was a breath the earth let out.  For 4 billion years she had breathed us.  Nothing wasted, nothing lost.  It was the breath of Shakespeare, of Da Vinci, of Cleopatra.  And it filled us.

Afterwards we paired off and took a few minutes to share with our partners a vision we wanted to manifest.  The key was to describe it as if it was already a fact, already coming into being.  Then in silence, our partner mirrored back to us the essence of what we were envisioning.

The blue hour shifted quickly and the sky was darkening as we started our last exercise.  Once again we gathered in a circle and began to gently clap to the beat of our hearts, the pulse of the earth.  Then at our own pace, we softly we added the chant, ‘I’m coming home.’  To listen to the women singing and clapping, to drink in the smell of the mountains I knew that I could feel, certainly in my own spirit, that all was perfect in the world.

Then one by one, each woman took a gift of mountain sage and placed it in the lap of the Lady who had stood watch, a Native American statue standing under an ancient oak.   We asked for her blessings and left our dream-infused sage as an offering.  Then we traipsed on down the mountain to an abundance of food and laughter for the second part of the evening at Cari’s Shaefer’s house.

This portion of the gathering was Cari’s offering to First Tuesday.  As we sat in a circle in her beautiful home, munching on a feast of healthy yummies, she shared with us her experiences with manifesting and how she had finally found a way of creating her true heart’s desire.

At one time as a homework assignment, she had written up several visions:  one for a life partner, the second for the home of her dreams.  That evening we sat witness to how amazingly powerful her manifestations had been as we delighted in the welcoming environment that was her home in Topanga, and greeted her wonderful loving partner.

The key, she shared, was in writing your dreams in terms of the experience you wanted to have, rather than the laundry list of accomplishments desired.  It was important to imagine how you wanted to feel in that perfect relationship, rather than just what you wanted your partner to be like.

The power lay in the way one imagined feeling, focusing on the experience more than the details of what it looked like.  So for example, the power of envisioning $150,000 was not in the actual amount, but in the feeling you imagined that amount of money would give you.  In the end if we manifested 150,000 dollars but it was because a loved one passed away, we were probably not getting what we wanted.  Rather, it would be more successful if we imagined how the money might makes us feel happy, safe or free.   The second suggestion was to base a portion of the vision on what we currently believed was possible, and a portion of it on what pushed our boundaries of potential.

It was late as we made our way out the door into the cooling Topanga air.  We were replete with food and kinship; our fingers still smelling of mountain sage.

I made my way carefully down the mountain, thinking to myself  how destiny had shifted just a bit as each one of those glorious women offered their gifts to the earth and began manifesting the most beautiful of visions.

Sunset Hike

Aah.  What glories were set in motion that evening in Topanga.

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This is the summer I am learning Spanish

It happened so gently, so easily I never noticed.  My husband and I would take a morning walk down to the beach chit chatting about this or that: my work, his plans.  One day he shared with me one of his Spanish lessons.  He’d been taking lessons for weeks now and was studying so diligently.   I repeated his phrase and he gave me another one, and I repeated again.  What I discovered was that I really liked the sound of it.

Perhaps the affinity came from it being the cousin to my native French, or perhaps because it is the language that surrounds me in Los Angeles.  Regardless, I found such delight in the syllables rolling off my tongue, the languidness of the vowels and consonants coming together to form new sounds.

Every morning we walk now, like 5 year olds putting together our words, ‘my cat is black and white,’ ‘my house is nearby and to the right.’  But I find I am learning quickly, and my husband improves as well with the teaching.  It is something new that we share every day.  The lesson is only the length of the walk to the beach, but it is such a delicious way to start the morning.

‘The tree is green.’ ‘What time is it?’ ‘I carry two telephones.’  There is no room for deep philosophical conversation, but I do know how to ask where the store is and that is enough.

This is the summer I am learning Spanish.  This is the summer I re-discover the world in simple nouns and verbs.  This is the summer I find delight in short phrases and easy questions.

This is the summer I realize how beautiful it sounds to say ‘I love you,’ in Spanish.  Standing there, cup of coffee in hand, greeting my husband as he makes his way into the kitchen.  ‘Buenos dios, mi esposo.  Te amo.’

Happy Summer

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Rainwater Harvesting

Pitter patter, pitter patter.  The sweet sound of rain, an especially lovely sound in Southern California.  I stand in my open doorway, inhaling the scent of rain and wet earth.  I am fascinated by the alternating rhythms of the weather, from the gentle drops to a sudden downpour.  Suddenly there is the rumble of the thunder and the flashing of lightning.  ‘Goodness!’  I think.   ‘It’s a storm!  How thrilling!’

And in moments, my street is transformed into a rushing river, as the rain dumps on my roof, the sidewalk, the road.  Cars maneuver the slick street, windshield wipers clacking furiously.  All too soon it is over:  the rumbling stops, the rain slows, the torrent is once again a stream.  Eventually, all that can be heard is the last of the rain dripping down from trees, rooftops, telephone wires; a car zips down the road, leaving small splashes in its wake.

And while I was relishing the sight, the sound, the smell of that magnificent rain storm, millions of gallons of precious fresh water were being washed to the sea.  And swept up along with that water making its way to the ocean, was our great and colorful variety of trash and pollutants: cigarette butts, paper bags, condom wrappers, styrofoam, oil, and the list goes on.  The remnants of that rainstorm will be seen on our shores for days to come.  The creatures of the sea will feel its effects for much longer.

So, what to do?  It is yet one more of the many challenges our environment is facing.

The answer in this case is really rather simple: look at what Nature does.  Nature does it perfectly.  The rain falls; tumbling onto trees that slow the downpour, and roots that absorb the moisture.  It falls onto plants and soil that is rich and permeable.  It travels down through the earth replenishing our aquifers.  Along the way it is cleaned by the myriad of biological life forms that thrive there. Those aquifers then feed our springs and waterways.  On the last leg of the journey, the water evaporates and transpires back up into the atmosphere, where it forms clouds and begins the cycle once more.

So the answer to our challenge is to mimic Nature.  So simple.  Wherever we live, there is the opportunity to imitate nature’s process, to participate in the act of harvesting our rainwater: plant trees, get rid of impermeable surfaces, create healthier, more absorbent soils, capture rain off our roofs in rain-barrels, or divert it out into the garden where it can soak into the ground.

Imagine what could happen if every site became a mini-watershed?  Each lot would capture what rain fell on it, saving it, purifying it, participating in the cycle rather than flushing it out to sea?  What a difference that could make in our world.

This month, I have the tremendous good fortune to be working with G3 – Green Gardens Group as we join the team working on the LA Rainwater Harvesting Project.  This project is a great example of what we need to be doing all across the land:  working with communities and homeowners to educate and demonstrate what it could look like if each citizen used their property as a healthy functioning watershed that gathers rainwater as a resource rather than wasting it.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.  That is the sound of the rain, falling into my garden.

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Visiting Monterey, California

I think sometimes the best way to travel is to make few plans and have even fewer expectations.  Such was our impromptu trip to Monterey this January.  We were amazingly fortunate with the weather, warm blue skies and a three day holiday.  So last minute, we piled up the buggy and headed north.  The only things on the agenda – a stop for  lunch and quick hug for my daughter in San Luis Obispo, and a visit to the world famous Monterey Aquarium.

Now, I may sound carefree, but I do like to know where I’m going to put my head at night, especially during a long holiday weekend, so we did our due diligence.  After weighing our preferences and our budget, we settled on the Hotel Casa Munras, a boutique hotel about a 10 minute walk to the pier.  Nothing is perfect and the reviews on the hotel had included some negative comments, so I made sure when we got our room to ask for one that was quieter. Research does pay off, and we got a sweet little room just over the pool and rose garden.  And though the room did smell a little bit musty (you get used to it), the bed was very comfortable and the bathroom had just been remodeled, and I quite loved our little L’Occitane bath soaps.

The surprise bonus was the restaurant next door, Estebans, a cozy Spanish style bar and eatery that encouraged a welcoming buzz with its fireplace, tasty tapas and excellent service.

The other delightful eatery was a little café on Alvarado called Café Trieste.  It is the sister café to the original one in San Francisco, and I have to say it was one of the most delicious breakfasts I’d had in ages.  The food was simple, but really nicely seasoned, and surprisingly well priced.  And the coffee was dark, rich and intense – a great way to start the day.

After a great night’s sleep, we were up and ready to roll.  We discovered the hotel had bikes we could rent, and given the topography and easy access to everything we decided it would be a great way to explore Monterey.  It was perfect – there is a great bike path right along the water, and you can stop at a moment’s notice, pull over, and go again without having to fuss about traffic, parking or anyone else’s schedule but your own.

Looking Sporty at Monterey Bay

I don’t know what it was about riding the bike that afternoon that made me feel so lighthearted and happy.  Maybe it was the cool wind on my face, or how dorky I looked with my helmet on and one pant leg rolled up.  Or maybe it was being able to shout out like a 5 year old “Hey Mike, look at that,” as we pedaled past a beach covered with dozing harbor seals.

Harbor Seals Lounging in Monterey

The aquarium is definitely worth the visit.  It is beautifully designed with great exhibits and all kinds of interactive elements.  In more of my 5-year old moments, I stroked the starfish and hermit crabs, stood squished in the crowd to watch the otters feed, and shrieked like such a girl when we viewed the presentation on great white sharks.  An interesting fact, the top three white shark habitats are Australia, the oceans south of Africa and off the coast of California.

As the day drew to a close and the weather cooled, we pedaled our way back to the hotel.  Tired but happy, we stumbled back up to the room and sank into our welcoming bed, grateful to have shared this lovely day together.  My 5-year old then yawned twice, and drifted off to sleep.

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