And since I was away last year and never got to share my very last garden on my Micro Homestead, I thought today I’d do just that. A bit of inspiration, to get your gardening motor all revved up. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: major picture overload ahead –>

April

But new year, new beginnings, eh? On January 1st we took a beach walk all together, as a family.

As it turned out, my boss had misunderstood how much the job actually payed, and it ended up being significantly less than I’d thought. When I got that news, do you know what I felt?

Relief.

Which was interesting, because the promise of a steady paycheck sure was appealing. But the thing is, I don’t want to work in a bio lab. Ain’t that the thing. And I took this as a sign (totally don’t believe in signs, but whatevs) that I shouldn’t give up so easily on my actual dreams. Because I have a little time right now, before things get really hairy, and I might as well at least try to pursue my passion . . . right?

So the very next day I woke up and I emailed Victoria Moran, who I’d been going back and forth with, and I said “Yes! Sign me up for the February class at Main Street Vegan Academy!” I just closed my eyes and jumped, committed to an intensive week-long course in New York City, which would happen the following month, and which would result in me becoming a certified Vegan Lifestyle Coach and Educator.

Yes Yes, this was better.

If I only get 100 or so years of existence, I better make damn sure that I enjoy them.

And I feel like, finally, that’s where I’m at. I took that realization and I managed to internalize it. It’s part of me now. Thank goodness.

And that’s how I’m trying to live my life.

And I hope that you’re still here, and maybe you’re still interested in living along beside me. I really hope so.

So cheers, to us! And I guess I’ll see you ’round the net.

♥

All the turmoil and all the transition, all the heaviness of 2012, began to . . . ease. Damian and I were back in sync, share-parenting like old pros. We traded favors, and emotional support. We shared the car, and our hardships. We instituted a bi-weekly baby-free breakfast date – our “State Of The Waits” meetings, as we call them. That’s where we talk about our amazing son and coordinate our parenting strategies. And also, we talk about our relationship. And back then, back in December, we agreed that this trial separation was no longer a trial. We were both happier, by leaps and bounds. And Waits was happier too, with each of us carrying so much less stress.

Not that it isn’t without its rough spots, but Damian and I are completely committed to our friendship, and to Waits. “We’re still a family” we tell him. “It just looks different now.“

I realized how isolated I’d been up in Portland. How one-dimensional. Trying to be something I’m not, maybe? But here in Santa Barbara, I was all over the map – farmers markets with my baby boy, cocktails and board games with old friends, fancy musical theatre with my father, beach walks with Waits collecting sea glass, late nights out and live music, late nights in and old records, vegan brunch with my very meat-and-potatoes boss, helping an old friend go vegetarian, helping a new friend navigate dating, gardening and kid-talk with the other parents at preschool, and lots and lots and lots of all-alone time. I was dynamic; I felt like my old self again.

But who knows, maybe it was just the incredible SoCal sun, making all the difference.

The “Holiday Season” in California:

I grew up pretty poor. And right now I’m pretty poor (poor and privileged – a very strange place to be, indeed). But I remember so vividly how every year my mother (a single mom) would take me shopping in December. We would pick out a toy, and then drop it off at the Toys For Tots program. Every year.

And I wanted to do that with Waits. I wanted him to understand the importance of giving (he chose a truck, this year). It seems like the less I have, the more I feel compelled to give. Isn’t it funny how that works?

I knew that being alone on Christmas would be sad, and that’s just what I needed. Is that weird? I spent the entire day crying and feeling very divorced, and writing – I did some really amazing writing that day – and it was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. So there ya go.

On New Year’s Eve, Waits happened to wake up at 11:58 pm, so I pulled him out of bed and was able to give him a big kiss to ring in 2013. Perfect.

January, coming soon . . .

At the very start of November, Damian arrived in Santa Barbara. There was good:

Right before Damian got into town, I got sick. Like, reeeeeally sick. Like, I spent the whole night laying on the floor while Waits just watched iPad Netflix and systematically unwrapped every single bandaid in a jumbo box. Good times.

The worst part was that after almost a month of single-mothering all on my own, Damian wasn’t even able to take Waits when he got to town. I was so sick (of the achy and nauseous variety) and man, trying to parent when you feel like crap is pretty much the worst thing ever. And then just as I was starting to feel better, Waits got sick. We arrived home after dinner at my godparents, I got out of the car to open the gate and when I got back in, BOOM, vomit bomb had gone off all over my poor baby (and poor car).

Ugh. I got him out of the car, trying to comfort him, got him undressed and got us into the shower. All cleaned up, I parked him in front of the iPad (again) and went outside in the dark to clean out the car. Came back in, got Waits into bed and of course . . . VOM. Oh boy! And I’m such an amateur, first time mom here ya know? It took me a round [or two] of this before I figured to stash the barf bowl next to the bed. We got pretty good at catching it (go team!), but not before we had to take another shower, and not without having to work through every single piece in my [extensive] vintage sheet collection. Good times.

And then, after all that, Damian was supposed to take Waits for a night so I could finally get some down time. But of course, Damian got sick. To quote my journal:

FML.

Gotta keep your humor up, right? I’m really not trying to complain here, it’s just that all of this happened in the first week of November, and it pretty much summarizes the entirety of my experience with that particular month.



A bright spot amidst all that bummer stuff: because I needed to work more, Waits started preschool. The most amazing preschool I’ve ever seen (if you’re into alternative schooling), where he spends his days galavanting around an enormous valley in the foothills. The school is almost entirely outdoors, with a fruit orchard and tree houses covered with passionfruit vines. The children have their storytime under the canopy there, and you can just reach up and pluck the passion fruits right from the bush. I’s a magical place. It’s just the kind of environment that Waits needs, and he’s thriving there.



Alas, in keeping with November’s general nasty vibe, Harley developed a case of hives all over his body (you can kind of see his face is all puffed up in these pictures) and we had to make a late-night trip to the emergency vet. Seriously, FML!



Thanksgiving was hard as well. We went down to visit family in Orange County, to be with my Grandma like every year. It wasn’t the same. I was sad and stressed out and I didn’t feel much like feasting. Waits has a hard time in the very not-toddler-friendly houses, and I was not in the most patient place. It was a rough trip.

With our home secured, my overactive worry had moved on, towards “What am I going to do with my life?” [and secondarily, "Aren't I too old to be asking that damn question?!"] As in, career. As in, how am I going to make a substantial income to support this little family of three (Waits, Harley, and I). And I considered it all. I had an open mind because I was seriously so ambivalent. I thought about returning to science and going to grad school like my boss was urging. Or, I thought, maybe I could go to beauty school, because I enjoy doing hair and it’s somewhat creative, and it’s a linear path with a stable job at the end. (But I don’t think I could ever do hair, I simply would not be able to talk to people all day long – way too draining. Introvert power!) And in the same vein as “linear and secure”, I considered going to nursing school. My bio background gives me an edge and our city college has an amazing program. It guarantees a good job . . .

I was feeling really desperate and I was open to imagining anything. Anything to make money.

The only jobs that I actually applied for were animal rights/vegan-related and I was sorely under-qualified. And the truth is that every time I sent in a resume it felt like defeat, because there’s only one thing I really want to do. And that thing is so completely impractical, so totally financially unstable, that it basically seemed like it just wasn’t an option.

I’m having one of those days where I keep having to pull over to the side of the road because I’m so inspired; jotting down phrases and emailing myself ideas. Typing out opening paragraphs on my little phone, and this evening even some poetry! (what?!) These days I’m desperately figuring out how to make money, scheming a new life plan and trying to be practical. Every job I apply for breaks my heart a little more, because really all I want to do is write. Truly and with all my heart, I just want to write!

December, coming soon . . .

Damian would stay behind, finish up the house, and get it rented. I’d packed up almost everything, so all he’d have to do is load up our stuff and the dogs (the hens had already relocated to an awesome neighbor) and drive it all down (with help from his best friend, who he would be living with in SB). It was a lot for him to do.

And thus, the start of October was all lists and errands and tying up loose ends, prepping and packing and planning, and trying to include as much “Portland experience” as possible. It was generally just an overwhelming flood of emotion.

I loaded up the car and got Waits all settled in, hugged the dogs and Damian goodbye, and took one last long look at that house that was no longer my home. I met my step-sister for coffee and pastries at the gluten-free vegan bakery (oh, Portland), where we ate our breakfast and said our goodbyes. And then it was time.

Just as my wheels hit the freeway on-ramp, I got a text from Jo:

I am so excited for your journey! You and Waits are going to have so many new adventures. Drive fast and take lots of chances.

And that’s when the tears came. I was so sad, and so scared, and also filled with excitement at the infinite possibility that my life had become. The “anything-ness” of it was at once thrilling and terrifying. And also, goddamn I was leaving some amazing people behind. My heart just felt broken wide open.

But I kept going. I pulled myself together, at least enough to drive. I won’t pretend I wasn’t still a mess because I pretty much wept intermittently all the way to California. Thank goodness Waits likes his music loud.

I drove into Santa Barbara the back way, over the mountains. Through wine country, up the backroads cutting their course through the Los Padres National Forest, up and up towards the crest, all so that I could round the top and see this:


Dry mountainside, scrub brush and sage. Gorgeous green valley. Lonely oaks. Ocean and islands. Azure sky. That’s Santa Barbara – my Home.

I drove straight to my Dad’s house. We ordered Thai food and set up a makeshift bedroom for Waits and I. I opened a bottle of wine and stayed up late, all alone. It was exactly what I needed.

The next morning my only focus was on finding a house. I’d been scouring Craigslist every day for weeks, and the outlook was so grim. Our price range relegated us to studios, converted garages, and the occasional 1-bedroom apartment. Everything said NO DOGS ALLOWED.

But then, on my very first morning in town, there was this miracle.

But that night, exchanging money for keys, my mood had changed. And it wasn’t just the dirty walls and sagging floors that were bringing me down. No, the place had potential and that’s a good thing. It was . . . well, it made everything very real. I’d found an amazing home for Waits and I, but that was just it. This new life.

Everything was confusing; bitter and happy and sweet and sad.

As summer was drawing to a close, it was becoming very clear that neither Damian nor I were willing to face another Portland winter. We had tried, very hard, to make Portland feel like “our city” again, but the dead-weight dread we both felt in our guts each time we considered the impending autumn – well, that was enough to tell us that we had failed. A person should not have a panic attack when the seasons change.

See, I decided to marry Damian because he is a Fucking Awesome Person. I decided to bear his child for the same reason. And when we decided to separate, he didn’t stop being a Fucking Awesome Person. And I didn’t stop loving, admiring, or respecting him.

Luckily, that feeling is mutual.

And so, in that month of Limbo, we maintained our love and respect. There were tears, yes, but there wasn’t any yelling. There was sadness, but not anger. Grief, but not blame. Ours just wasn’t a combative separation. If anything, it was entirely supportive. We talked a lot about Waits – about how to tell him, how best to ease him through the transition, and about shared-parenting strategies. We planned out ways to split responsibilities, disentangle our financial obligations, and how the next few months would unfold. Each of us remarked on several occasions how that month, in many ways, we felt closer than we had in years. We’re a good team.

And, we decided that we had to move back to Santa Barbara. As soon as possible.

And I worried about where I would live, since the Craigslist ads in my price range were mostly for studios – yes, a single room for Waits and I, living-eating-sleeping in one space. Santa Barbara is really, really expensive as well as really REALLY NOT dog-friendly. I worried so much about how it would all work out.

I feel like time is flying. The days are whizzing past me and I’m just standing still. Paralyzed. I want to take a step towards my future, but I have no options.

. . . and sad, for myself. Today I wish that I had the body constitution to thrive in the Portland climate. I wish that my marriage was happy and healthy. I wish that it worked. Today I wish that I could have another baby, because I wanted one. I wish that things were different, but they’re not.

At the very start of the month we traveled south to Shasta county, our annual trip to see my brother and his family. My father came up too, like he does every year, and we stayed in the same little cabin right on the river. I love this place.

On the trip I read a book that sort of blew my mind:


And one afternoon, while everyone else was off at the lake, I was reading that book on a blanket under the big apple tree. And I heard a strange sound and I looked up, and what did I see but a teeny tiny kitten in the crook of the tree right above me!


So of course, I climbed! And look what I found:



There were four of them up there, just wee little mewling babes. Feral, but too young to know any better, so they let me touch them. I almost died of cute, and when my family returned, I climbed back up the tree and lowered them down:


They spent the night in the hamper and we dropped them off at the shelter on our way out of town the next morning. Rescue successful!

I kind of didn’t take any pictures in the middle of the month. Our days were spent savoring the last bits of summer, and evenings on our long walks, talking talking talking. We dreamed about moving back to Santa Barbara and schemed over how we could possibly pull it off (Sell at a loss? Impossible. Refinance and rent the house out? Where would the money to refinance come from? Not refinance and rent it out? Rent wouldn’t cover the mortgage so we’d take a hit every month. And on). We went round and round like that; nothing seemed financially smart. But mostly we talked about us, our relationship, our history, and our future.

Amanda Palmer. This was the song:




We started seeing a couple’s counselor in August, too.

And then at the end of the month, another trip. But just Waits and I. We went home to SB where I holed up with my bestie in her parent’s house (they were away all summer). Two weeks of beach walks and late-night wine, pool fun and vegan cooking in that incredible kitchen. Two weeks of processing and perspective. Two weeks of being away from each other, and feeling better for it.

This July was perhaps the summeriest summer I’ve ever had in my life, filled with park play and fountains, homemade ice cream, out-of-town weekends, BBQs and picnics, and – well, you’ll see.

Underneath all that sun and play, was a painful unraveling at home. But on the outside, it looked so pretty.

Lots and lots and LOTS of these days at the park with Jo and crew.

Boating with the family up north.



First taste of ice cream – homemade strawberry coconut cream, with fresh picked strawberries.



And those strawberry fields that made way for afternoon blueberry-picking adventures.

However, when I find myself facing great emotion, something musical awakens in me and I’m compelled to listen nonstop. And that happened, in July, as Damian and I began dancing around the discussion of separation. I re-discovered the incredible, the incomparable, the genius that is Amanda Fucking Palmer, and her music became my solace.

This song was on constant replay (really worth watching the entire video):




At the very end of July we went to a “hoedown” BBQ at Out To Pasture farm animal sanctuary. There were so many friends, so many beautiful animals, so many lovely veg families. It was one of my very favorite days, just absolute summer perfection. And isn’t it amazing that you can have such a diamond day during an otherwise very dark time? Life is complex and incredible and man, there’s just no such thing as black and white now is there?








August, coming soon . . .

I was already feeling so much better, physically, than I had in years, so it was amazing to get outside and enjoy life a little.




Right near the beginning of the month, Waits started nursery school. It was a co-op program, so I worked one morning each week, and then he was on his own for two mornings. Here’s the little guy on the very first day of nursery school (oh yes, I cried my eyes out):



Also early in the month we made a family trip down to Lighthouse Farm Sanctuary, for their annual open house.




On the way home that evening, Waits fell asleep, and Damian and I got to talking. It was one of those rare moments where you dig in really deep, to reveal something precious and profound. Which was good, but it was also the first time we said out loud, “What if we just don’t make each other happy?”

After that talk we began walking together every night. Every single night after dinner, Waits in the stroller listening to music, Damian and I pushing and talking, uncovering and examining. Those walks were everything, just totally incredible for our connection. We are both great communicators, gifted with the ability to really listen and really hear, without ego. It made everything so much easier.

But it also allows us to process through emotion much faster. (that’s called foreshadowing)

But we started off the month with a wonderful trip up north to Damian’s parents. It was a great weekend away and the Sunday cruise was definitely the highlight. Waits sure does love that boat!





I continued to see my naturopath and received a diagnosis. Guided by my blood work, we set out on a course of treatment, and the results I got were so quick and so enormous, it felt like nothing short of a miracle. I just can’t speak highly enough about this particular form of medical care. Consider me converted.