It’s full-on Seattle weather—finally.

I celebrated by wearing wool socks, an undershirt and taking the bus. Or, as The BF calls it, “the bu-u-u-u-us.”

Yes, I have my car here, but I am not much for driving, even in L.A. So when I am in a place with public transit that kinda-sorta works, I roll with it. Tonight’s ride was one straight shot, no transfers, and a chance to look out the window at the rain-soaked city.

Well, okay—to peek at the rain-soaked city in between glimpses at the GPS on my iPhone. It’s fun to watch the little dot that is you move across the map that is your route.

I had an amazing dinner at an amazing place (to be Yelped, soon) with an amazing Also-Newly-Non-Imaginary friend.

The Internet is great, but without real life attached to it, it loses much of its value. Like most tools, the Internet can be used or abused. (And for those of you abusing it in a particular way, that’s your bidness, but keep it to yourself, yeah?)

Tonight I used my iPhone to help me get to dinner, to meet a new friend I met on the Internet. (Who, to neatly tie things up with a ribbon, eschews cell phones).

Technology in the service of connection. Rain. Dinner with friends.

All as it should be…

xxx
c

I’ve met a lot of people thanks to the Internet. And packing myself off to Skedaddle, as one now-non-imaginary friend calls it, has allowed me to meet up with some of them—or remeet some of them—in the flesh.

But one of the nicest visits I’ve had was my trip out to my friend Joan’s farm.

If my own trajectory (copywriter to actress to communicatrix) is mildly odd, Joan’s defies description. She grew up around horses, out here in Seattle, and rode dressage as a girl. She trained as an actor, then acted, then wrote screenplays. Somewhere along the way, she started talking to animals, a skill she now leverages full-time, along with speaking and writing.

We met doing a play that was in many ways like doing time (as I understand it) or serving active duty in the military in wartime (ditto) or Catholic school (we, uh, both have experience with that one). Things were fraught, and that has a way of bonding you.

So when she moved from Los Angeles and we lost touch, I knew it was temporary—and it was. Every few years, we’ll lose touch, and then pick up where we left off via some fortuitous re-meetup. (And for the record, Facebook is proving profoundly helpful in this area.)

When I got in touch this time and told her about my trip, she immediately invited me out to the farm. She lives an hour’s drive from my little urban crash pad, in a place so staggeringly beautiful (and quiet—sweet Jesus!), you relax into it right away. We walked and hung and drank too much wine, and stayed up into the too-wee-for-me hours of the morning to do most of it.

We had us such a fine, full visit (and so much damned wine) that I had to miss out on two chances to hang with yet more Internet friends here on a visit (what is it with this town? Is everybody here?), and a fine, fine crew I’d long looked forward to meeting.

I have always liked having a choice of many good things, and have always hated having a choice of many good things. Decide to be an orthopedic surgeon, and it’s not going to leave you a lot of time to pursue that dream of standup comedy.

In this case, I confess that there were two items in the farm column that tipped it, and their names are Isabella and Olivia.

Dogs will always tip it, especially if you have been away from yours for 12 long days. In the middle of a long visit from home, it is important to get you some good dog lovin’. And these ladies? Delivered in spades.

Rested and restored…

xxx
c

Sometimes you eat the bear.

Sometimes you head out to the farm, the bear puts on a pot of French press, and the two of you eat a little cheese.

Everyone should get a day off.

Even the bear.

xxx
c

There are a million websites—okay, a couple of hundred thousand—that will tell you to curtail your email time.

Your chat time.

Your surfing time.

Here’s the thing: what they’re really telling you to do is to limit the amount of time you spend on things that net you little-to-nothing, and max out the time you spend doing the stuff that nets you bigtime.

You’ve got to keep body and soul together, yes.

You’ve got to keep Making Things—putting good things out there into the world that you make, yourself, out of sweat and twine and (your preferred medium).

But sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is to pick up the phone when it rings and talk to the (relative, soon-to-be-not) (and brave!) stranger on the other end.

Sometimes, the best use of your time is to reach out to a bunch of people you haven’t connected with in a while and share a few words, regardless of how many (or few) people will read them.

Sometimes, it’s just about…wandering. And seeing where the wandering will lead you.

We Virgos, we tend to forget that. We like forward motion, and checking things off lists. We like making a plan, and tend to think that deviation from it spells certain doom.

Here’s the thing: I veered about as far off the proscribed list today as was possible. As in, I did not start Working until 1. Or so. Up until then, I spent my day talking and wandering and musing.

But then? I sat down and wrote me a big, Shitty First Draft of Chapter Something. Even smiled a few times while writing it. Oh, it’ll all be thrown out, but it don’t matter none. It’s all in the doing.

Extend extend extend yourself.

Or oh, what you and the world might miss out on.

xxx
c

Like most human messes, the process of shifting from one thing to another is not linear.

Two steps forward, one step back. (Oh, wait—that’s a line.)

I want my growth to happen faster than it does, no matter how fast it happens. I want it to happen in a forward-ly direction, and only in that direction. I do not mind treading while I don’t mind treading, but when I’m ready to move, I’m ready, dammit.

If you are in the thick of it, change can be a big, sticky mess. Once you are outside of it, it may still be big, but it is also fascinating.

The older I get, the more I see the gods—you know, the Greek and Roman ones—as metaphor. They’re the part of us that sits outside of us. The part that gets to judge and pose and roll their big, fancy eyes.

What they don’t get is to play. Like we do. Like I do. Every day.

Today I got to play, and maybe didn’t own the field the way I wanted to.

Tomorrow, I get to play again.

xxx
c