Keep Tahoe Divine

Robert Hilton holds a variation of the iconic sticker that graces car bumpers from Subaru’s to stylish BMW's and even trendy Prius'.  Credit the folks at the League to Save Lake Tahoe whose core focus since 1957 has been to protect the lake’s inspiring clarity.  In 1880 when Mark Twain was in town, he could see to a depth of 100 feet.  Today the clarity is at 70 feet.  Let's keep Tahoe divine.

Top of California

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park is at the top of California. I asked a ranger to tell me where I could find the tallest redwood in all the land.

“Well, I can’t tell you where that tree is,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm and annoyance.  He pulled out a visitor guide and circled three or four places on the map with a green highlighter pen.

“Go to Lady Bird Johnson Grove,” he said. “That’s where you’ll see a lot of big trees.”

“Where is the tallest tree in that forest?” I asked.

“We don’t mark that tree anymore,” he said. “The root structure is exposed from so many people tram­pling on it. But you don’t have to search too hard. You’ll find it.”

Of course, I took it as a personal challenge to find the massive redwood that I called the Big Kahuna.

It was five at night by the time I drove up the narrow Bald Hills Road to find the Big Kahuna. It was a steep ascent to Lady Bird Johnson Grove, which rests near the top of a ridge, more than one thousand feet above sea level. As I neared the top, fog and a heavy drizzle hung in the air. The sun had long since given up the ghost. It was fifty-four degrees.

I began walking the one-mile loop in the old-growth redwood forest while the mist was hanging mid-air. The pink-flowered rhododen­dron and fern-lined trail through the forest began to open up. The trees were getting bigger and taller.

I heard the whistle note of the Marbled Murrelet coming from a high branch along the canopy of the redwood forest. I felt the mulch below my feet and smelled the musky scent of Earth.

I stopped in front of a massive tree trunk and mar­veled at its width. It must have been at least twenty-five feet around. When I looked up, I could see the lowest branch, about two hundred feet in the air. The tree seemed taller than a football field.

Blocking my path to inspect the trunk was another massive branch. Clearly, someone had placed this obstacle in front of the tree for a reason. When I inspected this tree from trunk to branch, there was no doubt in my mind. I had found the Big Kahuna.

I clutched my heart at the sight of it.

What I did next was exactly the same as every other idiot the park ranger warned me about. I trampled on the roots of the tree to make my way to the trunk.

“Hello,” I said to the Big Kahuna.

I placed both my hands firmly on its fibrous bark, holding on to the tree much like I do the shoulders of my own children after I greet them. Then I turned my face and placed my cheek on its trunk and embraced it.

I stayed in that position for a long time and felt the energy of this massive sentinel melding with my own life force.

“What would you have me know?” I asked the tree.

I could feel the top of the tree swaying and heard it creaking. A deep tranquility emanated from its pres­ence. This 2,000-year-old sentry was the embodiment of deep time. It held the past, present, and future all at once.

“Remain neutral,” the tree said to me.

I leaned my body flat against the tree until there was no space left between me and the Big Kahuna. This intimate bonding sent a shiver through my body as I felt the root structure connect to Earth’s bedrock and then head straight up to the canopy and beyond that, into the heavens.

“Feel what it means to be alive.”

I understood the elder. We get so caught up in rushing through life, that we forget to feel what it means to be alive—that we are here to experience life right now, not later.

I wanted to stay there longer, absorbing the Big Kahuna’s wisdom. But the truth is I was scared. I wasn’t strong enough to continue. The thin veil between reality and fantasy had been lifted, and for a few moments, I was on the other side.

Once I recognized that I had crossed the line, I removed my hands from the tree. Small red fibers stuck to my fingers. I quickly took two steps back away from the trunk and looked up. My neck stretched so far that my back arched. I looked like a reverse ques­tion mark.

Even though I was scared, I didn’t run away. Instead, I took one last moment to straighten my spine and mouthed two words. I gently touched the tree with one hand as I said this.

“Thank you.”

All The News That's Fit To Print

The San Jose Mercury News featured a story about the book I wrote "My Year In California."    My greatest desire is that women (and men) will take the book's thesis to heart: if you want something to change, make a new choice.  What will you choose?

New Way To Issue A Press Release

When I first thought about issuing a press release for the book I wrote "My Year In California," I searched the Internet for a service to support my effort.  After careful planning, I went with PRWeb.  The reason?  A recommendation from Deltina Hay, author, publisher, developer, blogger, and professor.  I've taken Deltina's excellent online course on app marketing.  I selected PRWeb's robust premium package at $369 because of its interactive, web-optimized ability.  It's like having my own website hosted on the PRWeb server.  As a social media strategist for a travel app that will soon be released, I may use PRWeb to promote our launch.  I'm using the book's promotion as the proverbial canary in the coal mine.  Keep your fingers crossed for me and my partner PRWeb that the media will pick up the release and write a story on my book.   Thanks a bunch!

Mt. Shasta: Three Years Later

Mt. Shasta July 2011 & July 2014. The snowpack difference is rather alarming. Still, the spiritual vortex there remains and captures my heart every time I visit.

Winner: Eureka! Travel Writing Award

“My Year In California” won the 2014 Eureka! Travel Writing Award.  No. Not the grand prize, a weekend at the swanky Cavallo Point Resort near San Francisco, which would have been sa-weet, but rather, the “Thematic/Lifestyle” category.   Truth be told, I’m happy to receive anything, especially a certificate.  Thank you Visit California for this awesome validation.  Remember, nothin’s finer than a 49er — our Golden State. 

My Book Won An Award

My Year In California won the silver award from the North American Travel Journalists Association.   So excited to share the gift of living in the Golden State with the rest of the world. 

Keeping The Spirit Alive

Ojai, CA -- Julie Tumamait-Stenslie, pictured here, is the Chairperson for the Barbareño/Ventureño- Band of Mission Indians. Julie, a generous and accomplished woman, proudly carries the traditions of her family by sharing Chumash culture, history and songs to youth groups, schools, elder hostels, church and civic organizations.  Julie’s lived in the Ojai area nearly her entire life, and currently owns a home in the Meiners Oaks neighborhood, very near the birthplace of her great, great grandmother, Maria Ricarda Alulalmeque, who was raised in the Chumash village of Matilija. 

Photo: Graham Dunn

My Year In California

Basecamp, CA -- Every step of the journey is the journey.  The book I've worked on for the last four years is now printed.  Yipeee!  To learn more about it, visit: myyearincalifornia.com.  For anyone lucky enough to have their dream come true, I pose a question: Now what?  Stay tuned.

Judging A Book By Its Cover

Basecamp, CA -- Here it is!

Kickstarter Campaign Successful

On Independence Day, the book printing of "My Year In California ~ a journey toward midlife renewal" was funded on Kickstarter. Yippee!!! So grateful and humbled. My heart overflows with gratitude. Thank you to all my backers. 

Here We Go!

Basecamp, CA--I've been writing a book "My Year In California ~ a journey toward midlife renewal," for the last 18 months.  It is 90 percent complete.  Yipee!!  I've launched a Kickstarter campaign to help fund the book's printing.  Visit the site to learn more about my project.  If you feel inspired to contribute and receive a reward, great.  I encourage you to view the Kickstarter website and see for yourself all the creative projects that people are working on.  Who knows, maybe you might just catch the fire and start your own project.

Intellectual Capitol of California

Sometimes magic happens...I walked to the clock tower or Campanile at U.C. Berkeley yesterday to gain some inspiration from the 22 Nobel laureates who were from Cal.  I’ve been struggling with the idea of surrendering to the writing process.  My book is in the homestretch, but I still needed some kind of grounding stone to set me on the path toward creativity.  I lay down on a cement bench and looked up at the clock tower and noticed it was almost 6 p.m.  I closed my eyes.  The scent of pine and concrete lingered in the air.  The clock struck six and I heard the deep sound of a gong being struck.  How cool was that? I thought to myself.  Then came the best part—it was the whimsical notes of a chime playing a lilting song.  I was being serenaded by the state’s largest musical jewelry box.  I surrendered to this ethereal experience and marveled at the beauty of life.  And then I wept. 

Graduation Day

I graduated from Holy Names University in Oakland, California on May 18, 2013 with a Master’s Degree in Culture & Spirituality.  This two-year program is based on the new cosmology of Thomas Berry who said “The universe is a communion of subjects, not a collection of objects.”  Thank you to my family and friends for their support on this sacred journey toward midlife renewal.  I’m grateful.

My Book ~ A Journey Toward Midlife Renewal

Basecamp, CA -- The book is well on it's way toward completion.  Yipeee!!!  Here is the backcover blurb:

At midlife Ingrid Hart is a single woman whose two children have just left for college.  Once a mother who made cinnamon toast for her children, she has lost her identity. Ingrid wants to discover who she is in the second half of life and makes a bold choice. She launches on a one-year journey across California where she lives in one city per month for a year.  

  

Financial obstacles block her path from the start. Will she overcome these barriers and continue her journey or will she abandon her dream of discovering who she really is? 

Ingrid learns that her journey is mostly internal and loses faith in herself and her choices. She discovers her sacred wound—and it acts as a catalyst for her transformation—what imprisons her will also set her free. She holds both the lock and key to her personal salvation.  Ingrid must overcome her fears and learn to trust herself once again.  

A Journey Toward Midlife Renewal ~ My Year In California is a travelogue and pictorial essay.   There are over 80 images and captions of people and places that help tell Ingrid’s personal California story.  

Cabrillo National Monument

My son Jordan balances himself along
a wall at Cabrillo National Monument.
I closed my eyes while snapping this pix.

San Diego, CA -- “This may be the most beautiful day of the year,” I told Jordan at the Cabrillo National Monument as we gazed over all of downtown San Diego, sailboats set in the foreground.  It had rained the night before and there was snow on Mount Palomar and the Laguna Mountains.  I've worn contact lenses for the past 20 years, so my eyes are no longer sharp, yet I could still clearly make out the Spanish revival style tower that houses the Museum of Man at Balboa Park, ten miles away. 

Ojai: Krotona Library

My daughter Haley considers
the idea of theosophy as a course
of spiritual study for her future.

Ojai, CA -- I spent time at the Krotona Library studying my new non-religion: theosophy.   This well-stocked library, which was built in 1924 and houses rare, out-of-print books focuses on the esoteric branches of knowledge such as alchemy, astrology, and mysticism. In my opinion, the Kratona Library invented and now owns “new age.” Sometimes I would just sit in this venerable space looking out from the floor-to-ceiling picture window at the Heritage Oak tree and rose garden. In the background were rolling hills of dry, yellow grasslands framed by mountains. Through osmosis I would absorb the teachings without even cracking a book. 

Venice: The Boys Are Back In Town

Venice, CA -- On a tranquil winter day, I sat on the beach, meditating on gentle waves tumbling on the shore when three young men carrying skateboards passed in front of me. Freedom. Riding on that same breeze was a whiff of incense, the scent of Venice, tenderly reminding me to remain in the present moment. I drew a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. There is only one time, and it is now.

Carmel: Memories Of My Father

Carmel, CA -- A haunting musical sound drifted on the wind from the luxurious Spanish Bay Golf Links at Pebble Beach.  A Scottish bagpipe player emerged, playing a soulful rendition of Amazing Grace in full regalia—a kilt, knee-high stockings and a wedge-shaped cap with a trailing ribbon. The last time I heard that song was at my father’s grave site.  He was a simple, old-world man who insisted our family emigrate from Brazil to the land of opportunity—California.  The memory of my beloved father, his simple life, and love of the bagpipe made me smile, and then I wept.  

Heart of Ireland Beats In Davis

Davis, CA -- The day I went to visit my son Jordan at his university in Davis, it was overcast and rainy.  Our first stop was a one-hour philosophy class deconstructing the skepticism associated with the writings of 16^th century philosopher René Descartes.  I don’t believe the professor understood when he wrote Cartesian Demon on the blackboard, it meant the demon Facebook because that’s what students were viewing on their laptops instead of listening to his lecture. 

 

After class, Jordan and I wanted some comfort food so we walked in a gentle rain from his frat house to de Vere’s Irish Pub in downtown Davis.   We sat in the library room on a plush red leather couch surrounded by antique fixtures, stained glass windows, polished wood, and yes, books.  If American Free Bird wasn’t blasting from the speakers, I would have sworn I was in Ireland. 

Our order of Bangers and Mash was clearly the comfort food we were seeking, wanting to sink deeper into Irish culture within this jewelry box of a restaurant.  The creamy mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy were worth the price of admission alone.  I asked our waiter Josh to bring us some gnarly mustard and he laughed.  A few moments later with the gnarly addition, the meal took on new heights as I dipped the housemade sausage into a zesty brew of brown seed mustard with a horseradish kick—my whole mouth zigging and zagging resounding with Zing!  My only regret was not ordering a pint of Guinness to balance the zig and zag.

Sadly, our time together was coming to an end.  Jordan and I walked back to his frat house and hugged goodbye.  He would pull an all-nighter to complete a term paper.  My heart was heavy for the parting once again, but made lighter by the memory of our precious time together.  I got in my car, turned on  the XM satellite radio to the 70s station hoping that Free Bird would float through the speakers, sending me back to the happy place once again, at de Vere's, with Jordan by my side.