AUTHENTIC ADULT WOMAN

SOUL PLACES

I talk a lot about 'soul'.  Forgive me.  I don't know what else to call that deep nourishing soulful connection to certain people, pets, pieces of music, lines of poetry....and the utterly unique feeling of certain PLACES.

One of these soul spots for me is up in the high desert of Central California. The mighty Kern river smashes its way down from the snow pack on Mount Whitney far to the North...sometimes savage - sometimes placid.  Boulders the size of Jeeps line the rugged shoreline.  

The air is so pure. The wild bash of the river is the only background sound - constant and somehow soothing.   

Sand sifted between the rocks creates little private hide-aways.

 

I sink down onto the fine pale sand and lean against a giant sun-warmed rock. My breathing slows.  My cells align. I roll over, head on arm ...fall into innocent sleep, timeless.

 

Chance, or perhaps Providence, has brought me here 

to find relief

From cares too monumental and too trivial

to be labeled

And in the warm rocks, the soft sand, the shushing, rushing river

I breathe deeply, sort out the sources of unrest

-let them go -

Bask in the sun

 

 

After a time I wander around silently in this peaceful palette of chalky greys, greens, whites, yellows...gathering the perfect river-rounded stones, or the ancient granite rocks that speak to me of eternity.

 

 

 

I place them carefully, almost unconsciously, on top of a huge flat rock by the river.

An altar?  A cairn?

Marking my soul place.  With Thanks.

 

 

 

 

 

THE IMPORTANCE OF PLACE

Can a little girl from the prairies of Canada find happinness on the Central Coast of California with glorious panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean!  Absolutely.  But what a journey!

I often write about my inner journey, and reveal glimpses of my career path, but today I'm thinking about the crazy crisscrossed map that shows the actual places where I've lived.

Starting in the city of Winnipeg, Manitoba, moving to little towns on the prairies of Alberta and Saskatchewan, settling in the city of Regina, being shipped off to nearby Briercrest, a rural boarding school, leaving Canada for seven years of college and graduate school in Seattle; then to Chicago for seven years, twelve years in Washington, D.C., three years in Texas, twenty years in Los Angeles, and, for the last lovely decade, in a charming village between San Francisco and LA.  WHEW!

                 

 

Lately I've been remembering the prairies with their endless skies - almost black or yellow-green before a hail storm, the crisp crunch of boots on the packed snow - ice skating in the moonlight!

Remembering Seattle...magnificent Mount Rainier and the space needle from the window of my 3rd floor walk-up.  

Morning steals over Seattle - softly sweeping away the veil of night;

revealing in that lovely moment two images; 

The first formed by Nature before life began, the second erected by man to be part

of the beauty which is Seattle's sky

 

In Chicago I loved walking along Lake Shore Drive to my office on the 35th tower floor of a landmark building (the one in the middle of this picture) overlooking the wide blue of Lake Michigan...then home to my tiny 4th floor room in an old brownstone.

               

When Martin Luther King was assassinated my Chicago career felt meaningless. I moved to Washington hoping to 'make a difference'...hating the inequality I saw everywhere.  

 

Teaching, marching, taking action, restoring my little house. I was passionate about everything...surrounded by soul...weeping with Roberta Flack singing "Killing me Softly" upstairs at Mr. Henry's pub ...waving at George McGovern on my way to work at the first state supported university in the District...6000 Black students registered on the first day...finally able to afford higher education in our nation's capitol.

 

Back to school again in Texas - bicycling along country roads feeling nostalgic for the earthy fresh smell of mornings on my childhood prairies.   Los Angeles: that sprawling 'city of angels' wasn't exactly my soul place -
-but UCLA was a fine place to teach, and Santa Monica a wonderful place to create another little soul home.  (see The Perfect Medicine)

I've been reading Clare Cooper Marcus' book, Iona Dreaming. The author saw a picture of an older man sitting in a deck chair looking out onto the world, apparently reflecting, ruminating. "Now, I am that person", she says, "No longer pressured to achieve, to produce, to be 'of use'. I reflect on pivotal relationships in my life; I sit and write about what I see and hear around me.  That is enough".

 

I still sometimes worry about being 'of use' in the world.  But maybe just 'being' is enough.

THE PERFECT MEDICINE

Whenever I'm bored or slightly restless I have two sure remedies:  Either go back to school or remodel an old house. I've done both with great excitement and energy. My favorite, though, is finding an unlikely dreadful tiny old house and creating a beautiful snug home for my soul.

My first restoration was in Washington, D.C. It was built in 1749 as a farmer's house, very near the Capitol. By the time I found it in the 1970's it had deteriorated miserably. On a lot 20' x 100', the little detached 2 storey house was only 16' wide. The walls were 12" thick, made of oversized hand-made bricks.  It had served many purposes; most recently a pick up address for "women of the night".

I GUTTED IT!        

                                

With the help of a gifted mason I designed and rebuilt the huge fireplace, added a round stained glass window (from a torn-down church) to a tiny upstairs bathroom, created a charming front garden, an exposed brick kitchen leading through French doors to a long back garden and a studio built of gorgeous teak from a salvage yard.  

Years later a D.C. realtor friend sent me a clipping from the Washington Post. It read, "MINI ESTATE...handsome original touches in this immaculately restored 18th century gem on Capitol Hill. Japanese maples and a giant cedar line the curved path to an inviting well-lit studio."  I was thrilled!

 

 

I didn't do another remodel until 1983.  A newish professor at UCLA, I saw an intriguing ad that said: "CHEAPEST HOUSE IN SANTA MONICA, minutes from the ocean and 1 block off trendy upscale Montana Avenue". And in small print it said "also smallest".  

It was a wee Spanish style bungalow on a corner. Only 640 square feet!  But I had to have it. After I sawed down the gnarled vines the size of your biceps I found a tiny boring bare box, and inside - a web of teeny dark rooms and piles of junk. One nite I sat on a can of paint in the living room ...feeling acute buyers remorse.

 

What on earth could I do with this dreadful, small, dark, depressing place?  

 

And then it came to me...I would have to CREATE a SENSE of space and light!  

So with wild determination I took a sledge hammer and pounded thru' a wall of lathe and plaster- instantly transforming the dark space with light from another room.

              

I pushed out the ceiling with large rectangular skylites...tore down the kitchen wall to make a pass-through, 'cut' the top off a tall closet to create a tiny loft, pushed hollows between the studs to shape spaces for my paintings and sculptures, built samba stairs up to the loft..used every single nook and cranny for clever storage.  

 

I found a darling young carpenter who worked happily with my ever-changing designs and shared my excitement with patience and skill.

He hand-plastered every arch and corner round and soft in the Spanish tradition.  Lots of natural light on the chalky white walls (with just a touch of burgundy) made the rooms glow warmly.

                              

I loved climbing up the space-saving Japanese Samba staircase to the loft -

 

From there I could access a 'guest bed' library under the eaves AND see the stars and the beautiful blooming jacaranda through another long high-domed skylite.

Here's where my dear cat, Mr. Tiff, liked to rest...halfway up to his favorite spot in the loft.

                          

 

Outside - we built a tall curved wall to enclose an intimate patio overhung with scarlet bougainvillea.

That little house became my soul's home - a place of peace and warmth - full of music, love, and great ideas!

Even now I wonder if there's another house in me? - if only to re-experience that energizing process of creation.