Welcome to my world

I’m starting this blog to record and share the adventures that make me feel alive and sometimes even a little scared. I hope to connect with others who also think it’s important to feel uncomfortable and uncertainty from time to time. Some I talk to don’t consider wearing a black tutu and pigtails to a roller derby bout or snow camping or picking up hitchhikers as normal, but to me, I’m just scratching the surface. There’s so much I want to experience that I kind of see myself as the archers arrow – seeking out the best the world has to offer, while riding the backside of the wind.  I love that some of my friends have these fabulous stories of their first meeting with me. Jumping in the ocean in formal attire during a work holiday party or carrying a kid on my back from a rope swing into a river, barely making it. Mudsliding in Fiji, peeing on fire hydrants, riding shopping carts down hills, I enjoy the absurd, the spontaneous, the original. 

Though I truly hope one day to settle in a community other than Orange County, California, I am eighth generation in this place. My ancestors, the Yorbas and Peraltas,  were the first to call this place home.  I feel such deep and abiding connection to the landscape and the history that even though it has changed twenty-fold from what it was when the blossom scent from the many orange groves combined with sultry Santa Ana breezes sent me into an ecstatic frenzy to kiss the cutest (or nearest) boy every autumn.  Saddleback Mountain to the east, the San Bernadino Mountains, sometimes capped in snow, to the north, with the beach to the south and west has been home for many years.

And yet, this gypsy blood gets those feet itching and I seek a wanderlust adventure. And so for now, this is my home base from whence all my wild and crazy journeys begin.

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Susan Phillips on March 5, 2011 at 2:52 am

    Reading this made me cry. I grew up roaming the fire roads at my streets deadend- an abandoned Fire Station was one of the places the kids of Iredell St., the Happy Diggers Club, would pause for a break after bending our mother’s fine flatware digging in the quartz veins along the trails to find our crystal treasures. I’ve heard that people who call themselves “The Tree People” now occupy that Fire Station. Although not native, I am 4th generation Los Angelino-

    Reply

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