Paper Pie

Out of Doors

As we start to feel a wee bit better around here, Rylie and I found it very necessary to break free from the walls and halls of our home and get out of doors. For the last couple of afternoons, we did just that.




Yesterday we went to a nearby park that has a slatted wood foot ramp that leads to the top of a mountain. I followed behind as Rylie got to exploring. She found some sticks and acorns, climbed up hills and on top of rocks, and then we set off on the ramp.

We were cruising along until Rylie spotted some very interesting seed pods stuck in between the slats.

Today we set off on another adventure, this time to Temescal Gateway Park. We played for a few hours in the scenic fields and meadows.





We brought Rylie to this park when she was just 3 months old and took her photo in this very tree stump.

It kind of blows my mind how restorative a few moments outside can be. When things start to feel a bit overwhelming, I know that means it is time to get on our shoes and head outside. Most days we stroll through the neighborhood or to the fountain downtown. We have been inside most days these last few weeks because we have all been quite under the weather. Speaking of the weather, it was downright hot today at about 76 degrees, so there was no way we could stay inside another day.

Rylie is an amazing adventurer; she loves to feel, smell, hear (and sometimes taste) all that is going on around her. She points out the birdies and squirrels. She climbs up hills and on top of tree stumps without hesitation and she collects acorns, rocks, sticks and seeds. I am so grateful for the ways in which she shows me how to open my eyes and to see what is around me again as though it is for the first time. I am inspired by how she lives in the moment and is truly here now; she reminds me to continually breath and to be present. She is not thinking about what to make for dinner or how she wishes she would have said something different or that we need groceries and the sink is full of dishes. Instead, she leads me out and away from that stuff. That stuff never ends, never goes away - those dirty dishes will eat up my whole day if I let them. To go out in nature and to just be with Rylie, to follow her around and to just be there . . . well, that fills my heart with gladness and lots and lots of peace.

In The Mountains

I am convinced that something marvelous happens when you head for the mountains. Energy shifts, the universe aligns, and it's as if the climb in altitude directly affects the odds of magic showing up. When I was all of 19, I took a road trip from Michigan to California with some friends. In Denver, we climbed into the Rockies and we were sitting along a stream in the middle of the night when a very kind man came along and played a flute for us by moonlight. He never said a word, just stopped, played and moved on - mysterious as it was wonderful. Another time, at our wedding in the mounrains above Malibu, I know it was nothing short of the dreamy location that got my dad onto the dance floor. My dad! Before that day, I had never seen him on a dance floor in my entire life.

My conviction of mountains equaling magic was made all the more strong this past weekend when we headed up to Pine Mountain Club in the Los Padres National Forest to ring in the New Year with another very special family. As we were making our way up the hill, I knew that the weekend was going to be lovely. Mandy, Griff & Fauna have so quickly endeared themselves to us. We are so similar it is shocking sometimes. We joked about this as we both showed up to our cabin rental with almost the exact same groceries. But we are different too, in complimentary ways. Like I am kind of a quiet introvert, and Mandy is one of the most extroverted people I have ever met. Best of all though, we are young families at the same place in life - likeminded and on the same wavelength. And our girls. Or girls seem like sisters. They are both calm, and even tempered, just nine months apart.

When we were not hiking, eating, or hot tubbing, we were dreaming together, brainstorming, talking and tossing around ideas. It was refreshing to bond deeper with such genuine and inspiring folk. We got to know them better, to dig deeper. I was touched when Mandy showed up with a birthday cake for me and though we went up for snow, it was so warm, we were able to have our New Year's breakfast al fresco. After three full days in cozy quarters, I left with nothing but joy and gratitude in my heart. There is magic in those mountains, I tell you. They bring people together and encourage kinship. I could not think of a nicer way to ring in a new year and it has inspired me to set an intention of meaningful connection for the coming year.
We love you guys.

This Moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Amanda Soule 

Snow

I am from up North. Me and snow, we have a history - a long and storied past. Growing up, nothing compared to the very first time those white flakes would fall from the sky. It was incredible, a miracle, really. How can something so delicate, be so immobolizing, destructive, and, well, cold? It would show up around the same time year in and year out, but for me, the magic of the first snow never became ordinary. After the storm, my mom would lug a big cardboard box up the stairs from the basement. There was one word scrawled across the side in Sharpie: Winter, but it might as well have read Nylon because that box was full of the stuff. I put on layer after layer, pulled my knit hat down over my ears so far it was grazing my eyelashes, and wound a striped scarf tightly around my neck, mouth and nose. I ran clumsily towards the door and out to be greeted by a sting of cold air. Within minutes, my scarf was scratchy and soaked with hot breath, so I ripped it off, leaving it behind as a stream of color in an endless white landscape.

Some days the snow was waist deep and I would pick my legs up high under the resistance of all of that frozen water. It was like walking through sand dunes, or maybe something equally resistant but more wet, like Jello. Our backyard had a sizeable hill and all of the neighborhood kids would bring their sleds over. We would slide down over and over again for hours. Going solo, or sometimes with three of us piled high. Despite our best efforts to avoid chaos, someone would always crash. Always. Perhaps the most treacherous obstacle was the creek that ran through the backyard at the bottom of the hill. Inevitably the fun would come to a screeching hault after one of us slid full speed, straight into the creek. Soaking wet and freezing cold, we ran to the house crying and begging mom for hot chocolate, which she always delivered.

Last night, we took an evening stroll around the neigborhood and admired all of the beautiful lights that are in full abundance right now at the height of the season. A harvest of sorts. As we walked along, I thought about the excitement and warmth that would fill my body after school when I shuffled up the freshly plowed driveway and spotted the lit Christmas tree. Trembling cold in the gray fade of the late afternoon, I knew that once inside I would be warm and there would be snacks and tv and that tree. Oh, that tree, and what it meant in the days to come.

Recently, a nearby park here in LA covered one patch of a small hill with snow on a bright and sunny morning. The kids in the neighborhood came out in droves with all manner of creative sledding apparatus. I saw the plastic piece from underneath the dish drying rack, laundry baskets and cardboard contraptions - some crude, some sophisticated. When you live in this climate, your garage is not readily stocked with sleds, snow shovels or skis, as ours was back in Michigan. It made my heart glad to see kids wearing cropped pants and sneakers while playing in the snow. The laughter and smiles were abundant, as well as the snowball fights and speedy collisions.

Reflecting upon snow seems especially poignant when we are just a few short days away from Christmas. I have grown used to not having snow on the ground, but that does not keep me from dreaming of a white Christmas year after year.

Topanga

If you leave my house and head west on the 10 for about 6 miles it will come to an end at the Pacific Coast Highway, also known as the PCH or Route 1. If you follow it north up the coast through Santa Monica, and Pacific Palisades, you can look out the driver's window and see the ocean like glitter under the sun. You might think Mother Nature is winking at you as you spot a few dolphins traveling alongside you up the coast. As you continue north, gratitude in check, you come upon Topanga Canyon Blvd. You can hang a right on this road and it will wind you through the mountains. Suddenly you feel very small, like the earth is surrounding you on all sides. Things like cars, cell phones, and radio reception start to seem silly and inconsequential. It's a little eerie, like you are transversing boundaries. As you curve through the jutting rocks, you will eventually come to a village of sorts, a small town right in the heart of the canyon, it is called Topanga.

If you decide to stop and take a look around you will discover something special. It may inspire you to think that if this little gem has been hiding from your awareness for so long, there most be thousands (millions) of discoveries waiting for you. And as big as those mountains are, they shrink in comparison to the size of the world and all that it begs you to unearth, to find, to seek. The notion that you are 20 minutes from Santa Monica is confusing, how could that be? This is clearly a mountain community. We are far away. Remote. If you venture down skinny dirt roads you will find kind folks that are living all sorts of experiences and lifestyles and wear t-shirts that say Follow Your Heart. There are log cabins as big as mansions, with windows just as large, right next to inhabited teepees, buses, late model motorhomes & trailers. There are fences made from reclaimed wood, horseshoes as art, and new purposes assigned to old objects. And horses, lots and lots of horses. Neighbors chat with babies strapped to their bodies, while dogs romp nearby. And if you ask nicely, people in Topanga that will let you visit with their wonderful animals.

After your baby kisses the horse and you are positive that your heart is surrounding you on all sides, you may need a rest. In the middle of town, there are quaint cafés filled with antiques and warm light serving organic food and strong coffee. When your baby begs for the chocolate truffle at the counter, you'll be relieved to know it is made from dates and completely raw. At your table you'll find a basket filled with mysterious reading about faeries, oracles and of course, the tarot. On your way out the door, you can choose from a bunch of cards in a teacup, each one has a single word message.

My card said Purpose. Topanga, I will be back...

Connecting With Nature

I'm realizing it could be something of an obsession of mine to analyze the pros and cons of living in Los Angeles. It seems to come up a lot, unintentionally. It is on my mind and has been for a long time, years probably. You see, there is a lot of traffic, a lot of hustle bustle, and a whole lot of time spent in cars in this sprawling city. There are days when you need to run a few errands and four hours later you have not returned. You have to drive a ways to get out of it, but when you do, the rewards are sweet.

This video was taken at the Coronado Butterfly Preserve in Santa Barbara County. We drove up there last Friday, with no expectations other than a little retreat and some time in nature together. What we found there astonished us. I am not exaggerating, if you are in Southern California, please visit this special place. I will not go into how much this video or these photos do not serve the abundant beauty that we discovered that day. The most idyllic place I have ever been, dare I say.

The fact that we did not have our zoom lens put a pit in my stomach - and it is still there. But, alas, there is always next year, because this, will definitely become a family tradition for us. Can you see in the photo above what looks to be a giant mass of dead leaves in the tree? It's not leaves. It is a cluster of monarch butterflies! They overwinter in a grove of Eucalyptus trees just east of bluffs that overlook the ocean.

There is a short, jolly man that stands at the base of the trees and asks if you have any questions about the butterflies. His passion for this place is evidenced by the giant monarch butterflies emblazoned on his t-shirt. He volunteers his time out in this wonderland - what a nice gift to the community. But I think that works both ways; it must be such a gift to see the astonished faces time and time again as they enter the grove, looking heavenward. Gasps. Silence. Reverence.

  We really did not need to see anymore. I mean that was it. That was worth the 3 hours we spent in holiday traffic to get up there. Hands down. But we kept exploring.






When I snapped the photo above, a girl around the age of six was walking by on the trail. In a soft sweet voice she said, "Aw...she looks so cute sitting in the tall grasses . . . and the short ones too."







We met lots of nice people on the trail that day. Strangers that smile are kindred spirits, I think - not really strangers at all. Surrounded by so much beauty, breathing it in, I felt recharged and all of the traffic irritation soon melted away. In those few hours, with my family, in this most ideal setting, surrounded by kind folks and abundant beauty - I truly felt at home.

Dispatch from 6 AM

I love this time of year. When the darkness is encroaching, approaching, letting its presence be known. There is no denying it, no stopping it. We are barrelling full speed towards the shortest, darkest day of the other 364 and we can't get off. It offers a counterbalance to the incredible, unrelenting sun that is a permanent fixture of Southern California.

I stepped outside my door somewhere around dawn and was greeted with a blast of chllly air. It was assertive and informed my lungs, that yes, indeed, the seasons do change here, even if ever so slightly. I walked to the garden to get some lettuce thankkful that the fall season is actually best for growing leaves, especially in this geography. I love this time of day, this time of year - surrounded by silence and dewy grass. As I turned my back and gathered what I needed, the dark gave way to the orange pink sky. The light was on its way to start afresh.

Fall Festival

On Saturday we went to a cute festival at the Farmer's Market. My, how things change in one year.

If you ever visit LA, the Farmer's Market at 3rd and Fairfax is a great place to see and experience. The people watching is out of this world and there are tons of delicious food options. One of our favorite places is a taco stand called Loteria. Pictured above is a sampler plate of all of their tacos in miniature, 12 in all. The first time we ever visited we made the mistake of each ordering our own sampler plate. NOT NECESSARY . . . this is enough to feed three people . . . easily. They have really refreshing limeade too, not too sweet.

There was a great range of live music.

And you could win this pumpkin if you guessed how much it weighs. We said 62 pounds 8 ounces, but since I haven't received a phone call today, that must not be it.

Rylie is really hitting up the petting zoo circuit this year.

I love this time of year. We've been having a string of warm, sunny days here which is not really in sync with the warm and cozy feeling in my heart, but hey, you take what you get, right?

This Moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Amanda Soule 

Camping At The Shore

We were lucky enough to spend the last two days here. What wonderful fun we had!



















Ahhhhh.....That's better.