Pleasure Notes

Tibetan Woman

President Obama met with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, today. As happens whenever our government acknowledges the Tibetan spiritual leader, China is pissed and making lots of noise. And my heart shatters a little, as it always does when confronted with examples of political or social injustice that appear to have no resolution. I am an EMOTIONAL CREATURE, as Eve Ensler would say. I simply do not understand how a country can justify usurping a neighbor, forcing a foreign language on its people, destroying its monuments, and traumatizing its citizens. I simply do not understand how whatever it gains in land or minerals or water is valued more greatly than humanity. I know this lack of comprehension reveals a mind more appropriately matched to a five-year-old in the sandbox, but I’m okay with that. After all, no one has ever explained to me what is WRONG with wanting the world to be fair, expecting people to share and receiving a kiss or lollipop after cleaning up a mess.

Family Walking Along the Cora

I was in Tibet for four days. Seven years ago. A very short visit, a long time ago. I’ve mentioned before that the journey seared my soul. I pity anyone who goes to that place and does not feel the earth and sky dance in sublime harmony for just a moment when graced with a smile from one of its children or upon first glimpsing the prayer flags fluttering to a silent melody. It is a gift to our planet, its people a gift to our species, and it is being treated with the same disregard for its true value as the earth as a whole. You may think my words are just hyperbole. They are not. Go for yourself, and see. Better yet, FEEL.

Street Shopping

On the same visit, I traveled through many parts of China. It is a phenomenal country. It is the only place outside the U.S. where I met individuals as confident, blind and arrogant about their country’s position and dominance on the world stage as are some Americans. I also met people as friendly as many here. But NEVER ONCE did I mistake a Chinese person for a Tibetan. NEVER ONCE, while in Tibet, did I think I was in China. The differences in Tibet are not those blithely attributed to regional variance. To its core, Tibet is a place unto itself. I hope someday the Chinese will accept this, but that day is clearly not today. Today, the Chinese government creates policy after policy, applicable only to Tibet, designed to eradicate as much as possible of its soul.

Children At Play

By meeting with the Dalai Lama today, President Obama took one of the few actions that is available to all of us, one that is infinitely powerful. He LISTENED. We can all listen. We can all SEE. Wherever we are. Whatever our circumstances. And then, perhaps, we can even ACT.

“Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.” – Peter, Paul & Mary

My father put my brother and me to sleep each night by singing us folk songs. Lemon Tree is one of my favorites in my memory. It always transported me to another time and place. I was reminded of it again when I came upon David Smith-Harrison some months ago.

by David Smith-Harrison

His intaglio prints are gorgeous and haunting. The silhouettes of the trees, along with the architectural details he includes in his pieces, capture the starkness and romance of the Mediterranean. Having lived in that part of the world for almost two years, I’ve left a bit of my heart on its dry hills and along its stunning coasts. Some day, I will live there again.

"Cherry Tree" by David Smith-Harrison

In the meantime, evocative art and literature sooth the yearning.

I reread Bitter Lemons, by Lawrence Durrell, if I wish to recall the feel of a uniquely hot sun against barely-shaded white rocks or the sounds of devout old women bent double in their black shrouds as they curse young men who flirt without shame. The autobiographical book may be set in Cyprus – an island to which I’ve never been, and recounts life in the 1950′s – a time about which I know only through history, but it perfectly captures a spirit that still hovers over much of small-town Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, and Southern Italy.

I visit the Getty Villa when I want to remember what it feels like to delicately brush away centuries’ worth of dirt to reveal a fully-intact amphora, a still perfectly polished gold coin, or the alabaster head of one of David’s extended family that someone chose to use as a suitable brick in an ancient wall.

And I gather lemons.

by mewtate/flickr

I collect a few fresh specimen at the Farmers’ Market and retreat to my kitchen to cut and peel them, seeking their sharp aroma ad happy when their scent lingers in the air and on my fingertips. I squeeze their juices into a steaming cup of tea that accompanies a gorgeously gooey piece of fresh baklava from the Armenian bakery down the street.

It is, after all, not so impossible to eat the fruit of the poor lemon. The task is not for the faint of heart, of course, but it is worth it. Funny, isn’t it, how much of life is both bitter and sweet?

"Lemons" by David Smith-Harrison

What do you do to transport yourself to another time and place? Where do you go?

After being catapulted into total emotional nakedness last week, I’ve been struggling to figure out what to wear. One of my blogging compatriots, Karen, wisely pegged my dilemma in a recent, and much appreciated, shout-out that mentioned the potential to feel isolated after sharing big. I’ve definitely been in hibernation mode the last few days, which is a bit ironic (in the Alanis Morrissette kind of way) since I’m back in temperature-controlled Los Angeles after spending 11 days in frigid, beautiful Colorado.

Side note: I had been toying with the idea of perhaps moving to Colorado. Being greeted by sub-freezing temperatures is an incredibly effective deterrent. I’m still undecided, but holy-mercury-free-mackerel that kind of cold can be some misery!

What I’ve discovered been reminded of (yet again!) is that there are only two activities that are guaranteed to return me to my self and settle me – physically, emotionally, mentally, and metaphorically.

1. TAKING A BREATH. How often do you breathe, consciously? If you’re like me, the answer is: not often enough. In fact, every time I see the words “breathe” or “breath” in print, I suddenly feel compelled to inhale deeply, only to discover that until that moment I’d barely been using my lungs. I hold my breath all the time without being aware of the prison I’m creating for my body. Or I maintain a very shallow breath. Why? Is it an unconscious attempt to be smaller, quieter, less? I certainly feel more real, more tangible, more alive when I breathe deeply. Why wouldn’t I want to feel like that all the time? Because it takes effort. LIFE TAKES EFFORT. Ain’t that a bitch?
2. ENGAGING WITH NATURE. When was the last time you walked barefoot in the grass just to feel the spring and prickle of each blade against your instep, or gently ran your bare hand through a pile of freshly fallen snow just to feel it slowly melt, or stood to watch a full sunset from start to finish with no other intention other than acknowledgment of its beauty? Whenever I take time to truly commune with nature, whether it be for the minute it takes to feel rough tree bark against my palm or the hour it takes to watch the sun sink behind the waves on the horizon, I am brought back to my self. My mind clears. I become right-sized – neither too small nor too big.

by Jesus de Blas/flickr

I’ve spent the past few days doing these two activities, with varying degrees of success, and I’m beginning to finally feel like I’ve landed. Or at least the wheels have been lowered. I’m not even going to worry about how far I am from the gate. I have nowhere I need to be but here.

What about you?

What was the best car ride of 2009? What did you see? How did it smell? Did you eat anything as you drove there? Who were you with?

The best car ride of 2009 occurred during my trip through Ireland. I was with Jamie. I honestly can’t remember which one of us was driving. Our destination was Cork. The scent in the air through the rolled down windows was vibrant combination of earth, grass, salt, manure… the smell of life in the countryside.

We had configured the GPS to avoid all highways and disallow any U-turns. This meant our route was a meander down one lane lanes that served more as boundary markers between farm plots than actual roads. We rarely saw another car, but we encountered many tractors. And we had an adventure.

We were stopped by a herd of sheep and their stern shepherdess.

sheep in the road

We accidentally herded a half dozen cows until a cross old lady jumped out of her house to scold us for letting them eat the flowers on her fence and a frazzled farmer came tearing out of a nearby field to claim the wayward beasts as his own.

herding cows

We were told by GPS Lady countless times, “in 100 metres, turn ____.” And then, once, she said, “in 100 metres, board ferry.” Needless to say, we did not see that coming.

on the ferry

We hit many bushes. (We were driving on the opposite side of the road, after all.)

We lost a hub cap.

When we reached a town to grab a bite to eat at one of the pubs and realized parallel parking on the opposite side of the road is even more challenging than driving on it, we cornered a hapless worker on his lunch break to do it for us. We then tried not to laugh as he mumbled and cursed and inched the car into place, completely flummoxed by the lack of a stick shift.

roadside grave yard

We saw fields, hills, tombstones, churches – new, old and crumbled, farm houses, farm animals, wind turbines, unmarked ruins, ocean, and sky.

catching the wind

We drove. We sang at the top of our lungs. We talked about love, traveling, U2, Twitter, beer, family, life, religion, politics, and how fucking green Ireland really is.

We had a blast. And I will treasure the memory.

Where did you go?

What was the best tea of the year?

by gguillaumee/flickr

Well, clearly this question was devised by a tea drinker. Alas, I am still a coffee junkie. That being said, I love tea, particularly the ritual of it.

I am taking baby steps toward incorporating it more fully into my life, too. I’m just saying a VERY PROLONGED goodbye to the bean. I only drink decaffeinated coffee now. And I have seven different teas in my house. The water kettle is always on the stove.

Perhaps 2010 will witness my transformation on this level along with every other.

If I could drink my favorite tea every day, the change might come about more quickly. But I have not, in fact, found my favorite tea in 2009. I actually found it in 2003, and then promptly lost it.

The tea of which I speak is a magical brew with floating… stuff… in it.

I had it in the tea garden of a park in Beijing.

I don’t remember the name of the park, though I spent hours in it and have photos of retirees playing Mah Jong to prove my presence. And I can’t articulate the taste, really… only that it was sweet, but not too sweet; strong, but not too strong; soothing; refreshing. But I just know it was perfectly delicious.

Without that tea from China as a choice now, I usually opt for peppermint.

Tetley is my current favorite of the bagged variety. I suppose that can count in answer to the question, right?

Not revolutionary, but safe and predictable. This year, I kinda prefer that.