Jumping Out of Airplanes, Replanting Hydrangeas

I got a great quote this morning from Mark Divine, former Navy SEAL and now coach and Unbeatable Mind Academy founder, "I leaped into the dark abyss. Wind whipped by me, and the velocity of my jump picked up. With my eyes popping out of my head and a joker smile, I managed one thought: "this is either going to turn out really cool, or really shitty."


This really spoke to me this morning. Several years ago now, our family visited a skydiving facility in the San Diego area to celebrate a great family victory. I decided to try to push my own personal boundaries, doing something that was so way over the top scary, even death-defying, that it would change my life forever.

And since I was going, the rest of my family went as well. Another one of Mom's crazy ideas. 

It was crazy, crazy fun. I jumped in tandem with "Tigger" my hooked up buddy, and he showed me points on the horizon after we'd pulled the chute: Mexico, the ocean, San Diego, the training facility and cars that looked like grains of white rice. I felt the cold air against me and then felt it warm as I got closer and closer to mother earth. I have to say the welcoming she did for this scared and tired traveler was inspiring.

Coach Devine goes on to say that we sometimes need to make that leap of faith, to go for it, put ourselves in failure's way, to get the prize behind the door. The unspoken part is the small print that says, "or die trying." This is something every elite warrior knows, but not anything we dwell on.

My relationship to the earth is very strong. Being an organic gardener for over 40 years has taught me things about life, while watching plants grow, thrive, and yes, die. So, when I jumped out of an airplane at 13,500 feet, though I was with someone who was very experienced, it was a disconnect from all the familiar sensations of my everyday life, and a leap into something else. 

I have these big beautiful hydrangeas in our backyard. We're in the middle of a big project to make a space we can look at through our 13' roll up glass garage door-cum-dining room window. We overlook a forest, but one that had to be pruned and thinned. We have sudden oak death around us, and the bay trees are the carrier. So, about ten big trees are being removed. And so now my beautiful hydrangeas, some of them over ten years old, have to be moved to a more shady location. I am concerned for their roots, and their relocation, just like I was when I jumped out of the airplane with no roots. I resist change and will miss them if they don't make it. They have become a part of me.


The transition from the familiar garden in my backyard to something new and miraculous is hard for me. Maybe all change is hard for me. Maybe that's why jumping out of a plane was hard for me. But do I want to live my life with the routine of the ordinary, "quiet desperation" as Coach Divine says, or embrace: 

The more capable you are as a person, the bigger the challenge you must bring to yourself.

I have to say the answer to that question on this glorious Saturday in June is, yes. Yes. Bring it on. Now, where's the airstrip?

G is for Gardening

Oh that magical time of year! While I still have narcissus and white daffodils blooming, the cineraria are coming on strong in their shades of purple, pink and violet. My hydrangeas are budding and the roses look stronger this year than ever. I have apricots and peaches that have fruited. Can't tell about my cherries because some of them are still blooming. My Meyer Lemon bush is almost breaking itself it's so full.

Our hills are green (St. Pats is always the greenest day here), but recent rains have stopped the brown spots that sometimes develop on our hilltops in April. I have frogs I transported from our old house in Sebastopol some 26 years ago -- well, generations from those 6 little green frogs I put in a coffee can and transported here -- they are singing up a chorus. I don't mind it keeps me awake at night. Makes me think I'm in Disneyland or some other magical place.

I have planted my tomatoes and peppers, sweet peas that are now about 3' tall, as well as sugar pod peas. I have Tuscan Cauliflower (blooms purple blush on white heads) that turns green when it's cooked. We've had kale, broccolini and swiss chard in all the rainbow colors. My artichokes are doing

well, and my purple asparagus are just popping up from the ground.

Don's hops plant I tried to kill off last summer has come back with a vengeance from the heavy pruning. They're staked and we think there'll be enough blooms for his famous India Pale Ale he likes to brew.

Lavender is blooming, so is the pink and pineapple bottlebrush. Harvested some pine nut seeds to start new trees. I have volunteer green beans, hollyhocks and stubborn remnants of the horseradish I've been trying to get rid of for 5 years (ever since a worker rototilled them under instead of pulling them). Kiwis and grapes are bursting forth.

There just isn't any better time for me now that the days are lighter longer and the air is warmer. I get dirty every day in the Spring. Can't wait to bring in those fresh bouquets, and to start getting early squash and carrots, which should be here next month.

And when I garden, I think of stories. It is a form of meditation for me. I like to look at my vegetables in the middle of my flower beds, so when they go to seed, they have company. Days like this, I truly am grateful.

Don't forget to catch the other A-Z Blog participants by clicking here.

On The Road Again

What was supposed to be a romantic weekend in Monterey with my husband has turned into something else. I've done a lot of adjusting these days. And gracefully. He came down with a bug, and, rather than expose me and others to it, decided to stay home.

I'm here to hear my friend, Tina Folsom, speak to the Monterey RWA chapter today. And, as luck would have it, we are going to be able to spend a little more time together, which I love doing with this prolific and creative writer who has inspired me greatly.

I was on my way last night to Moss Landing, and got lost, which is where all the real adventures lie, don't they? Between rows of brussels sprouts and lettuce, dodging the big trucks and farm workers finishing out a week of toil in the fields, I felt lucky to be alive and able to watch, life just go on. Don't know what excites me so much about brussels sprouts, but those beautiful plants did it for me. Row after row of perfectly formed, dark leafy green goodness, appearing to lack the aphids my plants often have. I sometimes wonder if it is worth it to even grow them in my garden. I've invested in scores of ladybug tubs, and though voracious eaters, I'm still stuck with those stubborn aphids. I refuse to spray.

Had dinner at Haute Enchilada, which was a really fun place, and managed to have an abstinent seafood dinner with local vegetables done to perfection. I picked out a dark corner, got out my laptop and worked on some social networking things.

I'm trying to finish my next SEAL book, Fallen SEAL Legacy, and I'm still about 20k from the end. I have about 40k words I won't be using, but can use on other books. Not since my first book have I had to re-write so many chapters, but I've strengthened the story, and some things just take longer. I'm relaxing into that.

And what has happened? You can guess, if you know me well. Another story has come over me, and I'm taking notes so I don't forget key points when I get ready to write it, which won't be now until next year. It is another contemporary series, but with older H/H, and involves a heroine on a road trip after the death of her husband. No, this is not in any way biographical. My husband is, thankfully, very much alive. But I got to "feeling" this story as I listened to a lot of Pat Metheney, some new music by Lyle Mays and other things on the Sirrius Satellite network, which is the best thing about my new car.

Road trips give me time to think. So, while there was that momentary "aw shucks" when my husband told me he wouldn't be going, I knew I'd make something productive and fun out of it. Have laptop will travel. I write well on the road, unlike lots of other writers. I don't like everything in its place. I like variety, and get inspired by new places. And then I come home, for what I hope will be a home stretch where I can really polish up and finish this puppy.

These are pictures and a little of the feel of this area. No, there are no pictures of the looming power plant. Makes the growing brussels sprouts, art galleries and eclectic places like The Whole Enchilada or Haute Enchilada even more special. After all, we don't live in a vaccuum. And I'm very grateful for the electricity which allows me to write, and to have readers find me.

I can't imagine a life of standing by the side of the road hawking my books to bicyclists or horse and buggy goers. Life would indeed be different. I won't have time to stop by again on my way to the meeting. I'm sure today will be just as filled with great memories.

Hope you are enjoying your weekend, wherever you are.

G is for Gardens

I grew up in gardens my mother tended. Her favorite was roses. It's too early to show you, but later, when all 50 of my rose bushes are in full bloom and the scent is so strong I leave my bedroom windows open all night and dream in technicolor, I'll show them to you.

So in this A-Z Blog Tour, Day 7 of a month of gratitude, G is for Gardens.

So I inherited a green thumb. Even the years when I was required to do weeding as part of my weekly duties as a teenager, didn't dissuade my love for green growing things. A friend of mine in high school gave me a rabbit from a litter of jack rabbit-4H white rabbit crosses (done unintentionally he says) and I found Nibbles pebbles of pooh to possess magical powers. We had the tallest, sweetest corn that summer. Nibbles escaped that summer too, and went off to find love in probably all the wrong places...

My husband and I became organic vegetable farmers way back in 1971 when we were first married. We'd go out in the garden and work up a sweat, come inside and have sex, then coffee, then more sex, then more gardening. We were poor students without any money to speak of, but with a lot of passion and love that has carried us forward to this day. In fact, when we sold that house, I told the Realtor we had to disclose that it was a very easy house to get pregnant in, as one of our brood of 4 was actually conceived in the garden...I digress...

So gardening has been a thread throughout my life, like raising 4 children on our now 60 acre piece of Heaven, surrounded by woods and a 1200 acre open space. We have views in all directions, but my favorite one is of my meadow. No lights. No organized gardens. Just green, with a few wildflowers I scatter every year. My tribute to my mother and the many angels that live here with me.

I took a collage class in Marin a few years ago and created this piece I call Gardens of the Heart. A portion of it is on my FB page timeline background. I get goosebumps every time I look at it. Growing flowers and other things just seems like the right thing to do. Not for profit. Not even for spiritual gain, although the gain is there without a doubt. Just because I can, and because I like to see what shows up when I put hand to soil. It's like setting a small part of the world right--the only part I can control.

And for that, I'm grateful.

French Laundry's Gardens

My husband and I jumped in the car, drove over the hill to Yountville, and strolled through the French Laundry's vegetable garden. I have always loved that place. Have you ever eaten at a restaurant that costs on average $1200 a meal, and didn't have a sign out front? Supposed to be the most expensive place to eat in the US. The No. 2 is in NYC.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to be able to eat there again. I have enjoyed it several times. But this time around, my feast came in the form of eye candy. An avid organic gardener for 40 years, I love to watch how plants grow, especially plants that bring health and vitality and contribute to a meal costing $1200. That does get my attention.

I view gardening as the next best thing to having children or great sex. And those two are tied for first. I've enjoyed getting dirty every day now for four decades. It's part of my DNA.

Seeing a well-tended garden brings me to tears, and Saturday, I must admit, I had a hard time talking. I smelled the tomatoes (since I didn't have permission to pick them) and the fresh basil. I looked at the roots of the bush beans to see how close they planted them. I looked at the seed potatoes they had just dug up. I even looked at their 8' tall compost pile I was tempted to rifle from. But, I am not a thief. I reveled in the joy of growing things and how unfettered they displayed their wonderful, magical finery.

In the greenhouse, they had tomatoes staked up and growing like vines, held by twine and clips. Those snaky things at the bottom of the picture are vines that had been pruned, and probably would stand 12'-15' tall if righted.

Between the rows they had sod. My gardener's delight burst forth when I exclaimed, "You can pick veggies in your bare feet!" How nice to be standing on something green, picking food your body will enjoy. The moist sod keeps the soil damp and weed-free.




I even enjoyed seeing their new little Frizzle chicks, exploring their own part of heaven. I could understand why someone planted savoy cabbage for them to nibble on.

Some years ago, I spent a Mother's Day up in Washington State with my roommate from college and her family, who were in the nursery business at that time. We put a long table down the center of the greenhouse, and had ourselves a feast, with rows of blooming plants. The aroma from their flowers almost overpowered the smell of the wonderful food we ate that day.

I think that if God ever gave up running things, he'd manage an organic farm. And he'd have office meetings in the greenhouse. And talk about redemption and all things new. Where it is inspiring to just be alive.

Isn't this really Heaven on Earth, after all?

It All Started In A Garden

My love of gardening has spanned over 40 years. I love the seasons, every single one of them. In Northern California we get to garden year round. I find it relaxing, soothing, and something I just must do every day.

There was a time we thought perhaps we would have to move, and honestly, leaving behind my garden was harder than leaving the house or the privacy we have here. No neighbors. I can water my garden in my nightie. Or worse! It is the only place I can be seen in a bathing suit. I like to get dirty, to dig and prune and support new life.

I don't even mind that our sprinkler system hasn't been repaired since the house fire that destroyed most of our dwelling and surrounding trees. And it was headed up the hill, and could have easily taken acres. We border a great Merlot vineyard owned by Jess Jackson. My hope was for some day to have a few vines of our own.

Gardening has taught me two things: patience, and serenity. Some things grow with lots of sunlight, and other things need shade and low temperatures. I learn what grows well where the more I work the garden. I try new things, new varieties. I dead-head and work with the old plants that send babies back as volunteers year after year. It's been several years since I've planted a calendula, or a hollyhock, or Shasta daisy. They just keep sending their offspring back to me to grow and delight everyone.

I have over 40 rose bushes. My favorite? Chrysler Imperial. I dare you to find a more sweet rose-smelling red rose. Mr. Lincoln comes a close second. Perfumed Delight, Peace and Chicago Peace are also favorites. And for yellow: Gold Medal. For a climbing rose? Joseph's Coat.

I enjoy my seasons in the garden just like I enjoy my seasons with writing. New stuff that has to be pruned. Old stuff that has to be dead-headed and revived, or cut completely. Training plants so they grow strong and give longevity, like writing that is strong, but could be made stronger. Fixing a story line so it holds up and supports a great bloom of a plot twist or character surprise.

And patience. Everyone wants to be an overnight success. To write every day and have people begging for more. To have your agent say "this is the best thing I have ever read!"

And in between those times (which exist in my dreams and daydreams, while I'm sitting in the garden enjoying the color) I just write. I write about my Guardian Angels and my SEALs and my vampires. And love blooms in the gardens of the heart.

Because, after all is said and done. That is really what I do best, and what I enjoy most of all.

What about you? Do you garden? What do you love about pruning your prose?

Days of Wine and Chickens

This is a great day. Any day I get dirt all over my body is a great day. I love to garden. I even love tending my chickens.

So, today is my first day to begin planting my garden – one I haven’t had for over 2 years now, ever since our house fire that pretty much sunk us in every respect, not the least of which is financially. But I digress…

I’m thinking about posting “Ode to Spring” things, but I can’t wait to get out there and get my hands and face dirty. For over 2 years my chickens have had their way with my garden—ate all my rhubarb, asparagus and artichokes—things I had grown for years, and things they told me at Western Farm Supply they wouldn’t touch. They even ate remnants of catnip and ALL my horseradish, although it took them 2 years to do the latter. I don’t think any of them could ever carry a disease—it’s been burned out of them.

They’ve given me a bumper crop of colorful eggs I trade at the local Farmer’s Market, for veggies and veggie/flower starts. Okay, fruit, and organic sheep sausage, English pot pies, fresh fruit turnovers, hot sauces, lemon and orange-flavored olive oil (try using it in your favorite corn bread recipe and they’ll never figured out how you did it) and occasionally cheeses and fresh crab. I’ve also traded for wind chimes that drive my brother crazy (he hates noise) tablecloths and cutting boards.

So my beautiful soil, with all the chicken poop and sawdust shavings from 2 years of henhouse cleanout, the virgin soil every gardener loves, rich with compost, and free of a single weed, rototilled to perfection (it was my valentine’s present from my hubby) is ready for my touch.

I am orgasmic!

So, if you don’t hear from me for awhile, I’m in the garden, caked with mud. Entertaining my chickens.

Oh, and here’s a little secret I’ve learned about chickens, lest you think I am a Pied Piper or witch or something. They line up for certain things. One of them is $1.00 loaves of bread from Bimbo Bakery. God bless Bimbo.